


The Ghost, The Valentine, and The Half

by LazBriar



Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [8]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal, Angel Dust - Freeform, Drama, Drug Abuse, Drunk Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay, Gen, Hand Jobs, Hurt, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Long, M/M, Multimedia, Public Sex, Romance, Second Person, Spider Husband, m/m - Freeform, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22611427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazBriar/pseuds/LazBriar
Summary: You're Anon. Only Anon. Once a Thief, then Hotel Security, and now, husband to Angel Dust. All things considered, that's a damn fine deal, isn't it?Unfortunately, the past is wrought with ghosts, and they see you, they see the Hotel, and most importantly, who you're with. Like a shadow, it threatens to consume everyone you care about. Will your love hold together? Against all odds, can your marriage sustain itself in Hell? Can you and Angel reconcile all that's happened, or will tragedy break you apart?Find out in the final arc of the Thief-Spider trilogy.Completed 5/6/2020.
Relationships: Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/You, Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Series: The Thief, The Spider, and the Hotel [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286831
Comments: 115
Kudos: 108





	1. Foreword

****

**Foreword**

Welcome back, reader.

The story you’re about to read is my swansong, my final major series I have planned for Hazbin Hotel as a fanfiction author. One year ago, in Feb 2019, I started this long journey, never expecting I’d end up here, writing two short novels and a set of short stories to accompany them, all because of a particular spider. It’s taught me so much about myself, what I’m capable of, and what it means to write full length stories. It’s been an amazing sequence of lessons, and I’m only here because of you.

So, thank you. I extend my hand. It fills me with joy to write for an audience, and I want to do it once more. Won’t you join me for this last, wild ride?

For those of you just joining, know this is the third in a series following two big stories. It’s recommended you check those out first, otherwise, details here may not make sense, and spoilers are everywhere.

For convenience of new and returning readers, I’ve assembled this quick chronological compendium:

**Events Thus Far**

  1. **[The Thief, The Spider, and The Hotel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874860/chapters/42188813) – **Follow your journey as Anon: Master Thief as you find yourself entangled in the complex web of a relationship with Angel Dust.
  2. **[Sabbatical](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18910723) – **One of Angel’s old friends makes a return.
  3. **[Party Girls Don’t Get Hurt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18940831) –** You help Angel Dust after he overdoses on drug and lifestyle.
  4. **[The Obsessor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034221/chapters/45207823) –** One individual obsesses over Angel Dust, threatening him and the Hotel’s safety.
  5. **[The Shadow, The Stranger, and The Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303651/chapters/45912304) –** Following the events of TSH, your actions have resulted in a swarm of new friends and foes.
  6. **[Quick Fix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982852/chapters/45074548) –** Short, sweet stories focused on quick smut.
  7. **[Memory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19864231) –** You explore a tender memory with Angel Dust and Charlie’s help.
  8. [**Honeymooners**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21433957/chapters/51071836) – Following the events of SSA, Angel wants to throw a party, while some unfortunate guests show up.
  9. [**Detours**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22113451/chapters/52778500)– Quick stories with you and Angel Dust.



And of course, we end on Series 3. I hope you enjoy, and thank you so much again for spending your time with my work.

It’s with great excitement I bring you _The Ghost, The Valentine, and The Half._


	2. Death Ain't So Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New guests make for some interesting company.

**Death Ain’t So Simple**

Pentagram City stretches into the horizon, a wasteland of neon lights married to towering black pillars of warped, incandescent metal. Hedonism, indulgence, violence, anarchy, corruption – they’re the lifeblood of this hellish domain, a brimming, cultivated infestation of terrible deeds. Because it _is_ Hell, after all. It’s even encouraged. The worst are cast down here, thrown into Lucifer’s playground, slumming about as sinners, dwelling as demons. If they’re lucky, the scrape together a miserable existence and survive. If they’re _really_ lucky, they make it through their first Extermination, an annual “cleansing” of said sinners negotiated between literal armored Angels and, well, Devil only knew. It’s a nightmare, it’s a paradise, it’s the last stop, the final phase between a wretched existence as a demon or total oblivion.

It's also your home.

In the heart of this place, spaced between crowded city streets and buildings, stands a hodgepodge structure of scarlet brick, baroque fixtures, and pieces of things that were _not_ buildings jammed into the humble body of a place calling itself the _Happy Hotel_. Or, the Hazbin Hotel, as Alastor chided (the sign said it, after all). Here in this mutated mishmash of miscreants, there resided a girl, a lady with a dream, carrying a hope that sinners were _not_ beyond redemption, that even in Hell one still had a second chance. “Young” Charlotte Magne, Daughter of the Devil, Princess of Hell, Lilith’s Little Monster, steward of her dream project.

Because of her, you were alive. Because of her, you had somewhere to call a home, despite _everything._ Because of her, you had – what you wanted to believe – were friends, or at least, a loose collection of sinners who tolerated your presence. Husk, Niffty, Baxter, Crymini, Vaggie, and even Alastor were but a few of the strangers you’d come to know over the past year. They were strange, problematic, violent, and chaotically evil, but. . . they were your dysfunctional family.

Oh, and there was that other one, what’s his name? Angel Dust.

 _Angel fucking Dust._ A quick lay. A friend. A _boy_ friend. And now your husband.

Wait, who the hell are you, anyway?

That’s. . . complicated. You _were_ Anon: Master Thief. You snuck around, you stole stuff, you knocked over one of Pentagram City’s biggest casinos and indirectly unleashed the _Annihilator,_ Abaddon. You almost died. But hey, you didn’t, so there’s that, right?

You _were_ Anon: Head of Hotel security. You weren’t the best at it. Then you discovered you had a son, Junior. And. . .

He’s gone. But he’s in a better place, you think. Even though it hurts, you go on. Because, now, you’re not Anon the thief or Anon the security guard, you’re Anon, husband to Angel Dust, and he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Speaking in terms of oblivion, anyway.

All right, so you lost a kid, and an eye, and your left arm, but hey, the spider has plenty to spare. It could be so much worse, and considering the nature of what’s happened, you consider yourself _very_ lucky. You want him to be happy, and you want to be a good husband. You want to get better, and you want to be better with Angel. There’s no guarantee this whole “redemption” thing will pan out – shit, who even agreed to the paperwork? But, it’s worth trying. For yourself, Junior, and Angel. Especially Angel.

It’s not easy. Angel and you are together in a very literal sense. Down Here, they don’t do marriage, they bind souls together, as a way to punish unions, rather than celebrate them. You know, anchored to your worse half, that kind of thing? Well, it panned out for you and the spider, but because your souls are mingled together, there’s a connection, like two rivers meeting at a discordant lake. You can _feel_ Angel in a different way, and you can feel all his ups. . . and his downs. Mostly his downs. The struggle isn’t over. There, in fact, is more fight than resolution, but, that’s how it is, right? There’s no “the end,” despite everything you and he have suffered through. There’s just another day in Hell, and it may go on and on.

But it’s good to have somewhere you can call home. It’s good to be with Angel. It’s good to have friends, or at least, acquaintances who don’t want to eviscerate you just for existing. Yeah, this is good, isn’t it?

It is.

And it’s time to wake up.

Anon. . .

-*-

“Waaaake up!”

Your eyelid peels open. This is familiar, the “routine.” It’s blurry at first, colors are muddled, sleep fogs your mind, you’re not really sure if you’re “up” or just in some weird state of “up but not really.” It’s not until you see _his_ features that the certainty of things settles on you.

Angel’s looking down at you, pink bathrobe hugging his lithe frame. Cup of something in one free hand, Fat Nuggets in the other. The little oink squirms as he sees you coming to life, and you grumble. You push yourself up, rub your head, and yawn, patting the pig.

“We have an alarm,” you say, groggy.

Angel glances to his side to one if his ornate nightstands, where an alarm clock has a knife jammed through it. “Yeah, uhh. . . ‘bout that.”

You both get ready. Today is different, _very_ different. Angel dotes on himself with an entourage of pricey makeups and gentle hint of perfume while you shower off. Once done, the spider helps you get your prosthetic on, the arm of brass color that’s been your pseudo-limb for a while now. It’s strange, and when you flex you “feel” it, yet you can’t, but it’ll do. This whole routine _should_ be normal, but the new day brings with it a distinction. Actually, two _very big, very problematic_ distinctions.

“We were drunk, right?” you say to Angel as he finishes dressing himself in his usual pink striped _Valentino._

“Obliterated, out of our minds drunk. Or high. Or dreaming.”

Angel sets down his eyeliner wand. “Ya’ think I’d forget something like that?”

You rub your head. “. . .so this is real?”

“S’bit early to be crackin’ like an egg, pockets.”

“I’m just trying to get it _right._ We. . . didn’t hallucinate it? Please tell me it was a fucking awful trip.”

By “hallucinate,” you mean Charlie’s latest announcement. In her ever-expanding reach to invite guests to the Hotel to prove her thesis of redemption, she’d extended an empathetic hand to two demons. Well, no, that wasn’t accurate. One was a demon, the other. . .

 _“Everyone,”_ she had said the other night during a meeting, _“We’ll be inviting two very special guests for breakfast!”_

That aroused some interest, but nothing out of the ordinary. Business as usual, right? And hell, even your buddy Hox was coming by for a visit. But. . .

_“I think they’ll be an amazing addition! I’m so excited!”_

Who, everyone wondered?

_“They helped us at the gala! Remember!?”_

You think you blacked out around that point. That, or you refused to believe it was real.

Angel scoffed. “Da’ hell ya’ so worried for? Ain’t nothin’ those two palookas gonna’ do. Put’cher hardon away, wild Bill, we’ze gonna’ eat food and dat’s it.”

He turned to his mirror, muttering. “Probably won’t even stay. . .”

Ugh.

“If I die,” you say, “I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Angel snickers.

-*-

A deep breath.

“Charlie. . .”

A cautious tone. Charlie wore a big, hopeful grin, practically bouncing in place.

“I love you. . . but. . .”

“They’re SO CUTE, VAGGIE!”

Vag swore in her language. “Charlie, NO. No, _no, no!”_

She made a gesture towards them. “Charlie, are you _out of your fucking mind!?”_

Charlie gasped. “Vag! Language! Problematic language, remember. What if our guests heard you?”

“They’re not our guests!” shrieked Vaggie with a wide gesture. “They’re. . . DID YOU FORGET!?”

Vaggie grabbed her girl by the wrist and gently pulled her aside, away from the living quarters. She rubbed her temple, then her eyes, Charlie waving at the “guests” as they stepped into another room.

One more breath. “Charlie.”

“Yeeeees?”

Vaggie stared at her girlfriend. Beautiful, optimistic, amazing singer, and damn what she could do with that tongue. But also, she was so naïve, and _this_ was hitting peak foolishness.

“You remember how we almost all _died_ last year?”

Charlie tapped her chin. “We almost die every year, Vag.”

“I don’t mean the Extermination!”

She pointed into the other room. “I mean those two _psychos._ Specifically, one of them _literally came knocking on our door!_ You _fought_ him!”

Charlie huffed, hands going to hips after a hand wave. “Oh _psh,_ Vaggie, Veebee, Vayvay, it’s fine! Yes, technically they’ve killed a lot of people, technically they broke Hotel property, _teeechnically_ they injured our guests, but, they _also_ helped us!”

Vaggie’s eye twitched, hand going through her silver long hair. “Charlotte!”

Charlie raised a finger, wiggling it. “Ah bup-bup-bup. This is what we do here, Vaggie. We don’t turn away lost souls seeking redemption.”

“They’re not after redemption!”

“You don’t know that.”

Vaggie opened her mouth to scream, but a shadow stopped her, looming over her with its leviathan height. She gazed up, tensing, instinctively putting herself in front of Charlie.

There, the titan sized locust-like creature stood over the duo, his greenish carapace peppered with fleshy spikes, two wide, angry red eyes accompanying his mantis-esque features. His mandibles were married to a strange maw, yielding a mouth that was like an executioner’s tunnel of bladed teeth, while shredded wings lingered behind him. Ancient, he was, hundreds of thousands of years, a true relic from the times of Old Hell, a Nephilim twisted, a thing thrown Down Below in service of the Annihilator. He thinks his old name was “Sar-Aka,” but Sarakk worked fine too. Killer of many, foe to more.

And of course, a bun rested in his arm.

Indeed, propped upon his limb like a seat was an anthropoid rabbit of alabaster fur and terrifying scarlet eyes, unblinking and affixed. She wore an attire not dissimilar from a medical uniform though her means of “study” were not so empathetic. Sarin, she called herself.

“I can hear you, you know,” said Sarakk. He touched his smaller companion on the head with gentle affection.

“She can too.”

Charlie twirled, beaming. “Oh! Pardon us! Just having a mini meeting, a uh, business chit-chat!”

“Did any of that involve breakfast? You promised breakfast.”

Sarin clicked her tongue. “Akky, be nice.”

He grumbled. “Well considering no one is _dead_ I think I’ve hit my ‘nice’ benchmark for the day.”

“There will be breakfast!” Charlie interjected. “We’re just waiting for the other guests!”

Sarakk grumbled. “Fine.” He turned, stalking back to the other room, wood floor creaking and whining from his steps.

Again, Charlie smiled to Vaggie. “Seeee? No muss, fuss, and I’ll hear no more complaints, Gus!”

Vaggie, again, wanted to protest, raise literal hell, but once her girl got those stars in her eyes, it was impossible to dim the lights. Charlie was set on a goal, ready to prove her Hotel to everyone. Suppose you could _really_ get the message through if you pacified two mass killers, especially one that had _attacked_ the Hotel. But it didn’t mean Vaggie liked it, and it _did_ mean that once again, she’d have to play referee and hope the Hotel wasn’t a pile of ashes by nightfall.

Instead, she stowed her frustrations and followed Charlie as she twirled and pranced into the opposing room, calling everyone. It was time for breakfast, and what better way to ease tensions than by cramming sociopaths in a small room and hoping they’d get along? Guh. Well, at least it put an extra swing in Charlie’s hips, gave her something to look at. . .

-*-

“Remember when my fucking ex-wife kicked in the door??”

Angel ignores you, sighing, fussing with the front of your suit, flattening out the crinkles and straightening your tie.

“Well, this is worse. One hundred times worse.”

Angel pushes back and looks you over. “Yer whinin for nothin’.”

Is he crazy? “ _Angel.”_

He covers your mouth with a gloved hand, finger coming to his own. “Nshoosh. Smile, babe, ya’ look prettier wearin’ one.”

You growl, pushing his arm aside. “How can you say that?”

Really, did _he_ forget too? Did everyone have a big case of amnesia? Did they forget who Sarin was, much less that _thing_ with her _?_ Did your husband forget what happened at. . .

He pats your cheek. “Lighten’ up, babe. Play nice.”

You raise your left arm, the prosthetic. The hand and limb are hidden by your attire and glove, but the implication is there. “This is because of _her.”_

Angel raises both hands. “I _know,_ Anon, **_I know.”_** He looks over your shoulder, into the next room which holds the large dining table, currently populated by most of the Hotel guests.

“Then _why-”_

“Is we goin’ along with it?” interrupts Angel, running hand over his hair fluff, the white hue complemented with splashes of pink freckles.

“Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. I’m here, Chuck is here, just, fuckin’, I dunno, Irish up ya’ coffee. Put up ya’ feet.”

You’re having a hard time wondering why Angel is so nonchalant about all this, but, then again he is _Angel Dust._ All those decades and something like the massive psycho bug and his companion must seem pretty normal.

You so badly want to say more. You want to remind him the last time you encountered them, it was at the building, and there _. . ._ you lost _him_. But you can’t. You just can’t. That memory is still so raw, and you don’t want Angel to hurt anymore. Bringing it up now isn’t going to help, or so you tell yourself.

Your thoughts are pushed aside when warm lips come to your cheek. “Mwah.”

“’Sides, I figure if dat pair o’ circus clowns wanted to put on an encore performance of bullshit, dey woulda’ already. Kay?”

One more kiss, this time to your lips, and the warmth spills into you.

You groan internally. Alright, fine. Maybe you _were_ taking it too seriously. They were just killers, no big deal. Technically, so was Alastor. And Niffty. And Angel Dust. And you. At least there was one other silver lining: Hox. He was here too.

Angel tugs your hand. “C’mon, cyclops, lets fuckin’ go. Ain’t gonna’ let Nif’ swipe all the good shit this time.”

You concede, wordlessly, and you both enter the dining room, smell of morning food consuming the air along with the bitter aroma of fresh coffee. Angel is right at your side, and damn it all if your husband wasn’t right there you don’t think you’d have the stomach for any of this. Occupying most of the chairs are the familiars, intermixed with their chatter. Crymini sees you both but keeps her eyes away; she hasn’t quite talked to either of you much since Junior. Guess you understand why.

Charlie beams and waves as she typically does and Vaggie gives a nod. You do too, and then you see _them._ There they are, at the end of the table, an oversized insectoid and his rabbit companion. The massive one, Sarakk, glances at you once, but much in the way a giant regards a fly. Sarin is too busy with her food, taking meticulous bites, and you’re in disbelief she even _eats._ They do nothing, save act like they’ve been here the whole time, but you don’t like it, at all. Sensing this, Angel takes a seat and pats an empty one next to you, _away_ from the duo, and you notice his mismatched avoid their direction. Well, no one took a shot, yet. Maybe this is fine?

“. . .do continue!” rings a static-laced tone, electronic distortion coating his voice. “You were regaling us with such _fascinating_ stories!”

He’s referring to Sarakk. The bug has an absent expression, if one could even form an expression given his exoskeleton exterior. He hardly moves.

“I was?”

“Lots of stabbing!” Niffty pipes up. She’s in a seat next to Alastor, standing on it, hopping in place. “Stab! Poke! Stab!”

Sarakk blinks. His eyes stare into the wall, almost bulging. His antennae straighten and he spaces, caught in the rift of memory.

“Charging armies of silver wings, the skies were red. . . and Lucifer took his seven headed form. . .”

Alastor chuckled, forking a particularly raw piece of meat. “Ahahaha! Tales from the old times, why, what a crackerjack of an event!”

Sarakk continued, random parables of his past life escaping him. You ignored this. Charlie and the rest were apparently intrigued enough to indulge the fiend, but perhaps as to not make him aggressive. Whatever the case, you weren’t interested. Even Angel was keeping his usual sardonic quips to himself, stuffing mouth full of egg and hash.

Strangely, it went this way for the rest of the morning. Sarakk said very little, and even looked disinterested in speaking. The only thing catching his eye was the rabbit, Sarin. When she talked, she had his full attention. It was like everything around him was a secondary obstacle. Dare you wager, he appeared a little obsessed with her. Attached. Huh.

You didn’t stick around long. Angel got back into his usual groove of shit-talking, but for the time being you excused yourself early. You couldn’t help it. Sharing a perimeter with those two killers didn’t sit right, and the fact Charlie was so welcoming only made it worse. You _understood,_ you knew why she was so adamant to help them, but they weren’t here to be helped. Again, you shoved the thoughts aside for now, remembering what Angel said. If he could smile, so could you, right?

“Aw, looks like we’re late.”

You didn’t even see him you were so lost in thought. At once, a familiar voice pulls your attention. If a cigar and good bourbon had a voice, it’d be this. You swivel, and it’s like all your troubles are shoved away. His gray coat matched to a slightly better suit compliments his Doberman features and ghostly white eyes. He’s not alone – the Goat Bois, Razzle and Dazzle, are fluttering next to him, save they’re a little more flushed than usual.

“Hox!”

He nods. “True enough.”

He gestures around you. “I take it by your dramatic standing, breakfast is over?”

You blink. “My what? Uh, oh, not really.”

The Bois bleat in unison, waving their hoofs. “Baaaaaa.”

You nod to them. “Bois. Morning.”

They flutter closer and kiss Hox on both cheeks, who chuckles. “Ey, not in front of the public, eh?”

There’s sheepish giggling and you can only imagine what’s been going on. But that’s okay, they’re happy and that makes you happy. Wouldn’t have pegged a dog and a pair of shortstack goats but, that was the least trouble Hox got into. Besides, he’s your friend, you’re just glad he’s _here._

He gestures. “Why don’t you two snag some eats? I got somethin’ to talk about with my pal, here.”

The Bois look between each other, uncertain at first, but eventually nod and scurry off, likely to find themselves a mountain of syrup covered flapjacks. When they’re gone, you’re oddly relieved. You haven’t had a moment to catch up with the old dog.

You say it quick. “I am sorry, Hox. For everything.”

He raises a hand. “Ah god, save it. Never been good with the sappy stuff. I said fuck you already, didn’t I?”

You laugh. “I guess you did.”

Hox stuffs his hands in pockets, looking around the hall. “Yeah. Hell. Never thought I’d be back here.”

“I’m glad you are.”

Which, now that you’ve got him. . . “Speaking of. Hox. How the _fuck_ are you alive?”

Hox rubs the back of his head, chuckling. “Curiosity is a dangerous thing, buddy.”

You stare at him. “Really?”

“I’m just sayin’. Seems like you got it real good now. Pretty thing at your side and you ain’t runnin’ schemes as much. That’s a good deal if you ask me.”

“Best one I can think of,” you say at once. “But, I feel like I should know. You made deals, you said.”

“Yeah. . . yeah. Making good on those is what’s gonna keep me in nice threads, you feel me?”

You lean on the wall. “I dunno if I like the sound of that.”

Hox scratches his chin. “Haha, who does? Deals, don’t make em’.”

“Bit late for that.”

Hox sighs. “Look, why don’t you catch me up on things? You may find it surprising, but being ‘dead’ doesn’t make for good stories.”

Catch up? Devil below. Where to even start?

Right where he left off, you suppose. You both share some drinks while you regale him with all that’s happened, from Abaddon to the Half to Junior and, well, getting hitched. It’s hard to say anything about your son, and the words don’t come easy, but Hox is sympathetic. You both sit at the bar (where Husk is absent, likely still at breakfast), musing over it all.

“Damn. I’m real sorry bud.”

You’re thankful. “I’ll be all right. It’s just been hard, you know? Angel doesn’t really want to talk about it. I try to, sometimes, but he doesn’t get into it.”

Hox knocks back a slug of beer. “Eh. Give em’ time. Something about that spider don’t strike me as the talkin’ type.”

“Hah, you’d be surprised.”

“You know what I mean.”

You give a slow nod and set your drink aside. Kinda early for alcohol, but eh, it was Hell. Hox stares at the wall of drinks, thinking.

“What happened to those others? The head thing and the clone, or whatever?”

He meant Legna and the Obsessor, but you shrug. “I’m not sure.” You don’t think you want to know, either.

“Good riddance, I suppose.”

There’s a small pause. Then: “Well, I showed you mine. Now show me yours?”

Again, Hox chuckles, tone tinted with anxiety. He turns to you, eyes hard, face set, and his smile goes away.

“Look, uh. I’ve made a pretty big deal, like I said. That thing you and I pulled off, at Lucy’s big vault? That got someone’s attention. Turns out death is really fuckin’ complicated, more than you’n me realized.”

The way his voice shifts puts you at unease. Uh oh.

“Hox. . .”

He raises a hand. “Look, I got my own ways to make here. I’m not just at the Hotel for a friendly pow-wow. I got something to do. Now, I’d. . . thought of coming to you but, I see how it is. You’re doin’ good kid. Happy, got the equivalent of a model as a tie-down with easy sex on the side. Who’d turn that shit down?”

You tap your fingers on the bar. “But.”

He pulls in a long, heavy sigh. “Uh. Well. I’ve got something I need to do.”

You stare at him. You know that look. “Steal. You need something to steal.”

“Yep.”

You clench your prosthetic. “Shit, man.”

“I know, I know. Real big hullabaloo this thing, but hey, it’s gotta be done, or _I’m_ done, for real. And, I’d never ask you, not this way. But, damn if you aren’t a pal I can trust and it’d be good to have someone like that around.”

Goddammit.

“I’m kind of retired,” you say.

He leans. “Kind of?”

You want to say no. You really do. But this is Hox, this is your friend. He’s been with you to Hell and back, literally. He’s the reason this goddamn city was still alive, but where was his happy ending? He certainly didn’t get a parade of sexy wife to call his own, or whatever. He got the shaft. He threw himself away for nothing else but loyalty. Or friendship. And now he’s here, and he needs help, and are you really gonna’ turn him away?

“You have the shittiest timing,” you say, tone lightening.

He shrugs. “Hey, we’re thieves. All time is shitty.”

You take a drink. “Explain this to me. Who is this?”

Again, Hox shrugs. “I dunno’ much. It’s like, bein’ in a place of endless space or something. I get approached by this guy and he offers to pull my soul outta’ whatever fuckhouse it’s been stuffed in. He works for some kind of organization that makes deals between living and dead, I guess? Afterlife shit. As it turns out, power in life can get you some pretty sweet kickbacks. Anyway, guy finds me only because of what we pulled and figured, ‘hey, this dog might be good for a job.’ So. . .”

The implications of what he’s saying are already going beyond you. But then again, considering all that’s happened, it’s not farfetched. Hell, on top of the Commission building you were pretty sure you saw multiple realities, and this one was just another in an endless sea of divergences.

Hox makes a wide gesture. “Here I am.”

Here he was, at the Hotel. “So, not just back for a friendly visit, eh?”

“Ahh, come on, two birds with a stone and all that.”

It’s fine. You’ve already made up your mind. Something about what he said, though.

“That’s all you know about. . . this guy?”

Hox gives a helpless shake of the head. “I don’t like it either. How he even found me is like, shit, somebody talking to you in your dream, or something. Wish I was more clear. I guess the takeaway is death ain’t so simple.”

You can only imagine. Well, questions for later. Right now, you at least need a bead on what the job is.

“And the take?”

Hox rubs his head. “Hah, ahh, this is where it gets tricky. It’s uh. . .”

The familiar step of kinky boots catches your ears, accompanied by the stiff scent of perfume.

“A TAKE!?”

You swing your gaze to see a grinning Angel Dust, his gold tooth glinting with a pair of hands to hips and the others crossed. Oh _fuck._

You look between he and Hox. “Uh, Angel, uh, this is uh, I’m just uh. . .”

He raises a finger. “Ashushush. I heard. Ya’ ran off ya’ dumb spook, leavin’ yer poor helpless spider all by his lonesome, and den I find you puttin’ the moves on _dis_ guy!”

Hox tilts his head, noting the sarcasm. “I’m flattered?”

You don’t want Angel getting tied into this, he’s already on the down as it is. But you can tell as he struts forward, he won’t be stopped, he’s gotta know what’s going on.

“Soooo m’big scary Anon is plottin’ and plannin’ all over again, ahaha. Very naughty, babe, very. Ain’t you s’posed to be retired?”

You wince, trying to find an excuse. “We were just catching up, is all.”

Hox smirks, looking to you. “Hey, it’s fine. Guilty as charged. Pretty one is right.”

Angel wears an all-knowing expression before coming to your side, hand around your shoulder, giving Hox an intrigued once over.

“I ‘member you, red rocket. Aw, shame. You’ze a cute pooch, if I wasn’t spoken for you’n me coulda’ tossed that bone around, eh?”

Hox lets it glance off him, extending his hand. “Angel Dust, huh? The Angel Dust? The rumors I hear.”

Angel snags and gives it a brisk shake. “I can ooonly wonder. Now, what’cha doin’ with my hubs? You tryin’ to get his pants off? That’s my job.”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. “It’s nothing.”

Angel smacks you on the back. “HAH. Babe, fuckin’ please. I know dat voice. The hell ya’ cookin’ up? I wanna knooooow.”

He brings your face to his. “Ya’ better tell me or I’ll go tattle.”

Hox rubs his chin. “You know. . . buddy, from what I hear your man’s no slouch on the trigger.”

Oh Hox no! You shoot him a concerned glance, but Angel straightens, pullint at his bow and jamming a finger into his fluff cleavage. “Damn’ fuckin’ straight pooch! I roll blocks and blow cocks! Er, I used to. I gave this shitshack city a prolapse a buncha’ times over, ehehehe!”

He polishes his fingers. “Metaphoric-like _and_ literal-like.”

Hox nods. “That’s helpful.”

“Hox,” you say, voice stern, “I know what you’re thinking, but, this is a favor.”

“A favor?” continues Angel, coy. “Ooooh, now I’m real interested. Favors is so fuckin’ nasty down here. C’mon boys, spill it. Anon, don’t make me put dem’ nuts on ice.”

There’s a hesitant pause afterward. Dammit. You’re torn. Because the real fucked up thing is? Having Angel with you on any kind of job still carries a dark thrill to it. He’s really good with a gun, to say the least. You and him on some kind of heist? That was a dream of yours for so long. But in the same vein, you don’t want to fall back. You don’t want him hurt and things to repeat. It cost so much.

“Well,” Hox starts again. “I was getting to it. Can I, Anon?”

Angel kisses your cheek. “Pleeeeeaaase?”

Shit. You concede. “Alright.”

Angel simpers and curls around you now, looking at Hox with delighted intent. For him, this is the perfect distraction, an ideal escape mechanism to keep himself from remembering _everything._ No wonder he’s so eager.

“It’s a body,” Hox says, leaning back and finishing his drink. “This guy apparently makes a deal while he’s alive, he’s currently stowed up down here, and the take is to get him, or whatever husk that’s supposed to _be_ him.”

Upon hearing this, you’re a little perplexed. “A body? So. . . he’s not dead?”

Hox gives a helpless shrug. “I wager it’s a bit more complicated than that, buddy. But that’s the general idea. We get him out, he goes back to fuckin’ around on the mortal turf, and probably has to do something for one of the big names around here.”

Angel grumbles. “A body!? Awwww, I was hopin’ for a warehouse of fuckin’ dope or diamonds or money. . .”

“Nobody said that’s out of the picture,” hints Hox. “Not like the stiff is just laying around. Wager there’s a little extra to be made.”

Angel perks. “Ya’ hear that pockets!?”

You rub your head. “I did.”

“Best I can give back. I’m running the abridged version. This stiff is locked up and we’re gonna’ need resources to make a good bust. Probably more help, too.”

More help? What was this turning into?

“Hox, exactly how big a crew are we running, here?”

Hox looks between you and your spider. “Well, I’m countin’ two. I’ve got one more in mind, somebody who could really make this whole thing go nice and smooth. Technically, he helped us before.”

What? What did that mean? You roll through your memories, trying to recall the various hires that helped you during the casino heist. The trigger guys, Oni and Sicario? They were long gone, long dead. The suits working with Hox when he swiped some gear? Couldn’t be.

“You planning to reveal this mystery person?”

Hox chuckles. “Only if I have something to offer.”

Damn dog is playing coy. Angel picks up on it. “Aww would ya’ cut the act, pooch? Who’s yer butt buddy? Do I gotta’ start listing names?”

You blink. Wait a minute. Someone “technically” helped during the heist because you were using _their_ technology.

“Oh, fuck. Hox. No. No way. _There’s no way.”_

Hox grins. “Oh, I know plenty. Just trust me. He’s a class act, once you get to know him.”

Angel frowns, frustrated. “Who!?”

You looked at the spider. “You kicked his ass the last time you met, remember? And _then_ he had us at gun point.”

Angel blinks, squinting. He’s working it out, processing, taking time, staring at the wall. Then he snaps his fingers.

“Dat jackoff from the bar?”

Hox laughs. “Not exactly.”

-*-

That old habit.

It’s kinda’ scary how fast it comes back, how _right_ it feels. The meticulous nature, prospect of a future score, the process of mediating over plans, gathering resources, and executing them. You wanted to put this away and move ahead. Is it bad it a part of you has missed it, dearly? The rush, the thrill, the potential for great success or catastrophic failure? All things considered, yeah, it is.

But you hate to admit. . . feels good. There’s a thrill to it, conducting a job with Hox. And now, Angel’s with you, something you’ve wanted for a long, long time. And besides, this would be a low stake hit, right? The body in question was held “hostage” by some small timers looking to ransom it off, a bunch of criminal politics that didn’t involve you. No monstrosities, no world enders, no artifacts that could stretch reality like rubber. Just a robbery with a very “unique” prize.

And hey, it got you away from the Hotel, away from _those two._ Just being around them was a sickening reminder of all that happened. You could do without it. Hell, maybe it was good for Angel, too? He seemed happy.

_But he seems happy because he’s avoiding the problem._

Yeah, but maybe he’s not _ready_ to talk.

_You know he doesn’t work like that._

Well, he’s changing. This is all new for him. Marriage? Tragedy? A while ago it was just blowjobs and cash. Give him time.

_Aren’t you ignoring the problem too?_

Hmph.

You shove the thought aside before opening a compartment underneath your bed, a hidden floorboard where you kept a few things. The suit within is not flattering. Kind of dated, all things considered. In fact, as you look it over, the shadowy fabric is the _opposite_ of what you need – stealth. What with Angel’s social media “presence” he’s put a spotlight on you both, and shadows vanish in light. If this was going well, you needed something with a low profile. New suit, maybe?

Maybe so.

You step back a moment. In that period, you forget the past, you embrace the feeling if now, of what’s ahead. Thoughts come swirling back, what’s comfortable, what’s natural, what you spent your life doing. It feels. . . good. Feels

Go on then, say it.

You’re Anon.

You’ve got plans.

[It’s good to be back.](https://youtu.be/RBl7v1tzP1g)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, we're back.


	3. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hox elaborates on his plan with you and Angel Dust. The fourth partner is introduced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution, contains a touch of smut. 
> 
> Oh no, the *horror.*

**Planning**

Ahh, familiarity.

You’re consumed with busy thoughts, meticulous ones, thinking about what lies ahead. Different angles, scenarios, entering and exit strategies. The thrill of the hunt fills you, the prospect of a score – even a small one – dangling in the future like a golden apple. It’s an objective, it forces you to focus on something, it keeps you busy. You gotta’ admit, you like it. You missed it. The deliberation and building of a heist are, you think, the one thing you’ve ever been really good at. Hell, all the elaborate stunts you pulled over the previous year was just a series of complicated scenarios to win the heart of Angel Dust, wasn’t it, and that worked out okay, yeah?

It helps, too, the stakes aren’t so high. Naturally, there is a risk to any job, especially in Pentagram City. Pull one tail too hard, and you rouse a beast, aka the various demonic lords lurking around every other corner. _But,_ it’s not like what you’re after is some mythical object or ancient being capable of sundering time and space, or something. It’s a location, it needs knocking over, and it’s got some simple loot. Granted, the loot is not what you’d usually go after, but it’s not about you, after all. It’s about helping your friend, Hox. And, well, Angel Dust seems to love the idea, and you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s happy.

It'll be fine. A quick job to get Hox back on track and then, perhaps, Angel will be ready to talk about what happened, among things, you’re sure of it. Sometimes you try to get it out in the open, but he’s always resilient. He just needs time, right? Right. For now, you’re following along with Hox’s plan. This is his show, as far as you’re concerned. What needs to be done and how is up to him.

For now, things maintain their usual rhythm. Overwhelmed with new “guests,” Charlie’s taken to her usual routine of therapy, starting with “group chat.” It makes for a good distracting cover while Hox and you muse over what lies ahead, but until the actual execution of his plan, you’ve got to play your part. You usually don’t mind this, but with _those two_ hanging around, it makes you all sorts of uneasy.

“Let’s all introduce ourselves to the new arrivals!”

Charlie’s cheery demeanor does little to push aside your memories of Sarakk and Sarin as the entirety of the Hotel gathers in the main living quarters. Everyone’s got a seat, Angel with you, while the Princess goes around, calling person to person for a quick intro, mainly for the benefit of the new company.

Sarin, you notice, watches everyone with her wide, unblinking eyes. Her visage never changes, and her smile is permanent. Sometimes her head tilts at an unnatural angle. Brr. As Charlie goes from person to person, she comes to you, and there’s an odd pause in the air.

“Oh, no need, Miss Magne,” says Sarin in response to calling on you. “He and I are _very_ well acquainted.”

She says it in a way like you're old friends like all your history were just amusing happenstances. You think you hear Angel mutter “skank” under his breath.

“Oh, lovely!” says Charlie, maintaining a positive atmosphere. “Well, that’s everyone! Why don’t you two tell us a little about yourselves!”

Vaggie, next to her girl, gawks. Husk snorts and pulls out a hidden bottle of liquor, taking a fast swig. Alastor’s grin grows. Hox just scratches his head and looks at something else.

“About us?” says Sarin. “Why, we’re just enjoying some time off, is all! We’re out of work and _loving_ it, right Ak-Ak?”

The locust, the titan sized organism of bio-mechanic muscle, doesn’t move much. He glances down at Sarin, and if his features could smile, he probably was. He regards everything else around him with total indifference.

“As long as _you’re_ here,” he says to her with a strange, kind tone.

Charlie’s eyes sparkle as she watches the two dote on each other. Vaggie grumbles, rubbing her eyes.

Is that what’s keeping the monstrosity sane, then? The rabbit? You can’t imagine what the locust would do if she came under harm’s way. Hmm.

Sarin was quite eager to discuss her “work” after the fact, her time in Pentagram City and the engineering of nerve agents specific to demons, so on and so forth – horrid details and all. You missed most of what she said – or instead ignored it - considering you had _direct_ experience with her “techniques.” Really, you found yourself glancing towards Hox, wondering what he was thinking. Not about Sarin and Sarakk, but how _he_ was planning, what _he_ was considering. How did his mind work differently from yours? Guess you’d find out soon enough.

Once the first meeting had wrapped up, you saw Hox make a subtle gesture for you. You both were playing it close to the chest, and, again, there was an odd thrill to it. Working in secret, hiding in plain sight, that kind of thing.

When you neared Hox, he leaned close. “Headin’ out tonight to meet the rest of the crew.”

You glanced towards Charlie. “And what’s your cover story?”

He grinned. “Old buds just catching up, right? Gotta’ hear about my friend and his marriage, yeah?”

Sly bastard. “Yeah.”

Angel’s quick on the take, sneaking up to your side. “We doin’ shots!?”

You hush him quickly. “Hey, hey, easy, she’s not supposed to know.”

Angel just snickers, bringing his voice to an “acceptable” volume. “Calm ya’ cock, pockets, I ain’t ready to blow this thing. Yet.”

You know, you’ve never worked with your husband on a heist, and you’re starting to think it wouldn’t pan out so well.

Hox, in the meantime, just chuckles. “We’ll catch up, lovebirds. Later tonight, all right?”

You nod, while Angel makes a finger gun at your friend. “See ya’ den, pooch.”

-*-

“So. . .”

Husk took a long draft from his bottle, knocking back the substance with practiced endurance. His arm rests on the bar while his leery eyes watched the new couple with cautious irritation.

“Is Charlie on somethin’, Vag?” he said. Vaggie was with him, watching Sarakk and Sarin with the same, tense distaste.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Seriously. I know the Miss is a little airheaded but _this,”_ he said, gesturing to the bug and bun.

“This is like. Well, I’d fuckin’ call this brain damage. Trying to raise with a king high. Trying to bully the table with shit all to offer. Bettin your heart on a lost hand.”

Vaggie huffed. “I get it.”

“Ya’ sure? Cause what _I_ get is that thing nearly rippin’ this place a new asshole. Did she forget that whole fiasco? Really, Vag, what the hell. What kinda’ hooch is the Miss swinging, cause I want some.”

“Oh, knock it off, Husk,” said Vaggie with a glare. “You know how she can be. She’s forgiving. Kind.”

“Ditzy.”

Vaggie narrowed her eyes but found she couldn’t exactly argue. Her girl had some ideas. Some bad, some good. But _this?_ It was like coating yourself with gasoline and dancing around with a lit match. Of all things Charlie had done, this was by far her most reckless.

“Is anyone even gonna ask?” groused Husk, pointing his half empty bottle at the pair. “How’d those fuckin’ loonies get all doughy-eyed for each other?”

Vaggie grimaced. “I don’t want to know.”

_“Aren’t you two at least a bit curious?”_

The duo was interrupted by the shadowy frame of a coalescing figure, his silhouette emerging between them in a violent display of blackish-red energy. At once, a pair of arms slithered around the two’s shoulders, while a Cheshire grin married to a pallid complexion formed, tone coated with static-radio distortion.

Husk and Vag groaned in unison. “Ugh.”

“Come now, what a way to talk about our new neighbors!” chided Alastor. “Have you no heart? Look at that overgrown lovebug, ahaha, it’s a tale as true as _Casablanca!”_

Husk took another drink. “Kill me.”

Alastor wiggled a finger. “Wishes don’t get us anywhere, mister Husk. Goodness, what do you two have against this romantic arrangement of ruffians?”

Vaggie pushed off from Alastor’s embrace. “Do you even _know_ what that thing is capable of?”

He tilted his head. “Should I?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Husk muttered. “You weren’t there. Real fuckin’ convenient.”

Alastor chuckled. “Oh, there’s nothing convenient about a missed appointment, let me tell you!”

“Besides,” he continued, stepping in front of them and gesturing wide. “With those two lovable loons loitering about, think of all the entertainment! Why, I see all sorts of potential in those two, yes I do.”

Vaggie stared at Alastor. “Alright, have it your way. But when that equivalent of an Exterminator decides to go batshit _just because,_ I’m gonna’ make sure the first thing he sees is _you.”_

Again, Alastor laughed. “My dear, don’t threaten me with a good time!”

-*-

It was easier than it had any right to be. Damn, Hox was a smooth talker.

Parked in front of the building was the Hotel’s esteemed white limo, emblazoned with its gold front and tinted with pink windows, minded by the Goat Bois. They fluttered together, wearing positively elated expressions. Probably because their guy, Hox, was with them. Lots of blushing and snickering.

Angel points. “I can’t believe that’s a thing.”

Angel looked at the pairing with bewilderment, while you glance at him. The warm air of Pentagram City washes over you both, along with the distant chaotic hum of the horizon’s ceaseless anarchy.

“ _Really_?” you say. “ _That_ throws you off?”

He jabs your arm. “Ya’ know what I mean! Dem goaties, what’da fuck. Thought they way was just, I unno’, fancy flyin’ butlers. Makin’ googlies at red rocket over dere? Paha!”

You admit, it’s not something you’re used to seeing, with the Bois especially. “We’re learning new things every day.”

Angel looks them over a few time, leaning into you. “So, who tops n’who bottoms?”

You blink. “Uh.”

“Fifty says Raz issa’ pitcher. Oh he acts all coy’nshit but betcha he’s a wailer in the sack!”

You shake your head. “Like hell I’m betting on that.”

“S’cause you know I’m right!”

Given Angel’s experience, yeah, probably. In the meantime, Hox finally spies you two and waves while you and Angel approach. Both of you are in form-fitting attire, but nothing especially fancy. Suit and overcoat, the standard fair. You’re trying to keep suspicion low at the Hotel, after all, _and_ around the City. What with Angel’s incessant desire to post on social media, people might start recognizing you, and you’re not too keen on that.

“Angel. Anon.”

You smile at Hox, greeting him and the Bois. Angel looks between them.

“Sup’ poochie. What’s with clip n’clop? We doin’ a double date?”

Raz and Daz look at Angel, bleating, and blushing. “Bah!” they protest.

Angel Dust snorts. “Not datin’? Yeah, sure, okay.”

Hox rubs his head. “Hah, would I be so lucky. Sorry to disappoint, mister Dust, but it’s part of the cover. Had a chat with blondie, asked her about drinks, and she agreed so long as her chaperones came on board. The Bois are here to keep us on our best behavior, _riiight?”_

He tossed them a look and they covered their muzzles, nodding but stifling laughter.

Angel kept his smirk. “Guess ya’ skipped the part where dey slobbered yer-”

 _“That’s great, Hox,”_ you interject, nudging Angel. “Good story.”

Hox chuckled. “Story? What do you mean, buddy? We’re all saints tonight, ain’t we?”

You raise your prosthetic arm. “Halfway there.”

Angel tilts his head. “Playin’ it cleaner than a nun’s cooch? Aww, too bad pockets, ya talked yourself outta a blowie.”

You roll your eye. “Uh huh.”

Hox checked his wrist, eyeing a watch. “Okay, lovebirds, not to cut the banter short, but we’ve got places to be. Our number four should be meeting us soon.”

Angel stretched. “Finally! Let’s blow this shitshack! Haven’t had a decent shot in weeks!”

Again, the Bois bleat, opening the door for you and Angel. As you enter, Angel continues to speak.

“Ey, so if ain’t dat palooka from the bar, or that guy from the corner, or one of my plugs, who’s dis mystery man!?”

You didn’t say so because you figured Angel would know by now. When he sits next to you in the pink cushioned seats, you give him a look.

“Peppermint. Really?”

He stares at you, shrugging. “What?”

-*-

 _The Vaudevillain_ was a quaint corner of Pentagram City holding all the charm of campy antagonists straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon cereal. Well, if that cartoon contained tights-wearing psychos who actually murdered indiscriminately and didn’t try to knock over bubble gum factories, or something. It was colorful, friendly enough, and the drinks were nice. As a bonus, the view of the city was decent. Hox had nabbed a round table for you, Angel, and the Bois with a nice shot of the near-endless horizon, while sinister tunes played in the background against the maniacal conversations of failed villains.

Angel could hardly contain himself. “Fuuuckin’ hell, dis joint has more bulges than a pride parade! The hell, pooch, ya gonna’ break out the black spandex inna’ sec here?”

The Bois blushed at the idea while you all sat. He shrugged.

“Wasn’t my first choice,” he said as a waitress approached the table, a tall scarlet imp woman in a black onesie.

“It’s what _he_ preferred,” he added while the waitress took drink orders. “Besides, could be worse.”

A talk man strode past the table in white with a purple cape and rainbow-sun pattern slung down his chest, where Angel covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I’unno bout’ dat.”

Drinks came fast and you kept it light. You weren’t looking to get blasted, although Angel was quick to down a couple of shots already, slamming the table with fist as he wiped his mouth. Easy, baby. You did your best to maintain a pleasant conversation, something simple in hopes to keep the _substances_ out of focus. But, given all the proximity to alcohol and night life and. . . other things, this could get messy, especially when _he_ showed up.

“Ya’ gonna’ tell us what dis fuckin’ plan is, pooch?” Angel eventually said, leaning in his seat. He pat your shoulder.

“When pockets gets n’idea he can’t shuttup! So spill it!”

Hox opened his mouth to respond, but. . .

“ _Well, well, well.”_

The crisp, cold tone of a familiar voice speared through the air. Hard to believe it was actually him, but, now that the coil was out of the bag, guess it was true. A silhouette slithered forward, arms behind his back, Victorian attire clashing against scaly eye-covered form, cyclopean hat, and waddling egg-shaped servants. His tongue flicked and a hiss touched the air, curious onlookers throwing a glance his way.

“Pentious, you made it!” said Hox, standing.

Angel gawked. “What da’ FUCK!?”

He turned to you, glaring. “THAT’S the other guy!?”

“Forgot about me already, strumpet?” hissed Sir Pentious. He cast a scathing look towards the spider as Hox came to shake his hand.

Angel snarled and yanked out a knife, kicking up from his seat, ready to lunge. You grab him, quickly, settling his temper. “ _Easy_ , Angel, easy. We’re not here to fight.”

“Are ya’ dippy!?” rages Angel, not looking at you. “Da fuck is this? A prank!? It ain’t funny!”

Sir Pentious crossed his arms, ignoring Hox’s gesture. “This affair is _already_ beneath a genius such as I, _dog.”_

Hox raises his arms, looking at everyone. “Heeeey come on now fellas, we’re all friends here!”

You tug the spider. “Angel,” you say, a bit firmer. He looks at you.

“It’ll be all right. We’re just talking, is all.”

In any other circumstance, Angel would’ve ignored this and gone in swinging. But, his trust in you – as his partner – is enough to calm him. For now. He grouses, slamming the knife into the table as an obvious threat, crossing his arms.

“Pfft. Whatevah.”

Hox rubbed his head. “Hoo. Okay.”

Pentious grunts, snapping his fingers. At once, his entourage of Egg Boys wobbles about and pulls up a table, brandishing little chains, tiny knives, and maybe a raygun? The point is they attempt to look threatening as the snake demon coils himself into a seat, staring at you and Angel.

Hox sits too, next to the Bois who munch on a plate of sweets, looking between the group.

“Alright, I _know_ ya fellas have some history. . .”

Pentious hisses. “Hissstory!? I’ve been made a tawdry fool because of the whore and his discount pimp!”

You _feel_ a twinge of anger spike from Angel. Pentious turns to Hox. “And _you_ ssstole from me! Both of you! This entire den is full degenerate ruffians! Hacks and frauds exploiting my genius!”

Angel spat. “So why’d ya’ fuckin’ show up, smart ass? Ya’ lookin’ for round two, shit-twizzler!?”

Pentious turns, grinning. “Well, it certainly helps you all showed up _together._ Wouldn’t it be _so_ inconvenient if you were all _vaporized this very instant!?”_

Here, Pentious whipped out a raygun wreathed in pink energy, pointing it blank at Angel and you. You shifted to move, but a voice in the distance halted his action.

“HEY! NO LASER FIGHTS! TAKE IT OUTSIDE!”

You glance at Hox, who clears his throat.

“Come on, Pentious, did you really come all this way just do that? Don’t you wanna’ at least hear the plan?”

Sir Pentious, upon hearing the threat, frowns and deflates, setting aside his weapon. He gives an indignant humph, arms crossed.

“I think you owe me an apology.”

There’s a pause.

“You’re. . . serious?”

He glares at each of you. “Did I ssstutter? I’ve been made a mockery of! My genius inventions pilfered! The _indecency!_ The _insult!”_

His Egg Boys wobbled. “Yeah, insult!” shouted no. 62.

“Tell em what for, boss!” added no. 12.

“You should sit on them like a chair, sir!” commented no. 69.

Angel scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Dis is some _bullshit.”_

Pentious stretched out his hand, looking at his fingers. “I’m waiting. If I’m going to wassste my time with this smooth-cerebral scheme I’d better start hearing an apology!”

Hox scratches his head. He looks to you, shrugging. Oh fuck, he’s not kidding at all, is he?

Dammit. You sigh. “Uh. Pentious. Penny?”

He hisses.

“Okay, Pentious. Sir. Look, it was nothing personal, it was just part of a job. You had something I needed and uh. . .”

Wow, great start.

“Yeah, uh, sorry. For taking your stuff.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Okay, look, to be fair, it worked well. I couldn’t have gotten in the vault without _your_ brilliant technology. I mean, wouldn’t it be insulting to _not_ steal from the almighty Sir Pentious?”

Angel Dust snorts, but Hox joins in.

“Yeah! That’s why I asked you, you know. You’re the whole reason his bird’s got wings, Pentious!”

For a moment, Pentious’ eyes sparkle. “R-really? I MEAN, aherm, of _course_ you dimwitted demons needed my _help.”_

You nodded. “Yeah. We do. Right, Angel?”

You turn to your husband. “Right?”

Angel rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might jump out of his head. He huffs, he grumbles, he looks away, indignant.

“Whatever. Sorry fer’ kickin’ yer ass so hard, _fuckingforeskinasssnakebitchoughta. . .”_

Pentious leaned. “What?”

“He said he’s sorry,” you pipe up. “Very, _very_ sorry.”

Again, Pentious grunted. The tension, at least momentarily, had vanished. Hox gave a sigh of relief before taking a swig of his drink.

“Great, we’re all so close we could have an orgy. Now that this is all smiles and sunshine, I believe I owe an explanation, eh?”

This, at least, has the added benefit of providing a distracting subject, enough that everyone can put away previous hostilities to hear the Doberman demon out.

“We’ve got a body to steal,” said Hox, leaning in, voice going low just enough to be heard. “I’m responsible for delivering to my ah, very special client. That’s why I needed all of you. This is no solo act and it needs a _good_ crew.”

“We’re here for you, Hox,” you reassure, though you’re more speaking on behalf of yourself.

“A body?” cuts in Angel. “Boring! Where’s da stacks of cash?”

Hox raises a hand. “Getting to that.”

He shuffles in his coat and pulls out a few photos, aerial shots of what appears to be a warehouse. Hard to tell.

“Paid for some fly by photos. This here? This is the building. Right up the ass of the East Side. See, thing is though, the body I’m after ain’t supposed to be in there. It got knocked over by a bunch of gangbangers holdin’ the thing hostage, and unfortunately, ain’t no National Guard coming in guns blazing to get it out.”

Hox taps the picture. “Worse, that thing is a whole house of ‘fuck off.’ Sentry turrets with Seraphic-tipped rounds, fences, and I even hear they got some working Exterminator armor in there. Even for some numbskull operation I can’t lift it myself.”

Damn. It’s always a fortress.

“Well, they must know how valuable this ‘body’ of yours is then?” you offer.

Hox nods. “Yeah, it was being tugged around for some routine thing and, bam, sucker punched and stolen.”

“M’sorry, am I missin’ something?” Angel cuts in again. “Is like, dis guy packin’ a dick da size of an XL _Norse,_ cause what’ da fuck? A _body?_ ”

Pentious grumbles. “Is that all your feeble mind can ponder, bug? Fellatio!?”

Angel sneers. “Oh, I bet’cha wanna know _real bad,_ turbo virgin.”

Hox tries to veer the conversation forward. “It’s a guy who’s literally too rich to die. Or something. I dunno, the body is like a VIP shell and it’s waiting for an important soul. Look, that doesn’t concern us much. What does is getting the body out, _completely intact._ No fuck ups. Or _I_ get fucked up.”

He looks between all of you. “My client will come down here and kick my ass, and then I’ll come up here and kick _your_ asses. Get me? No. Fuck. Ups.”

You try to keep things moving too. “All right. Simple enough. We got our score. What do we need to do?”

Pentious straightens. “Yes, do tell how I will single handedly engineer your salvation, _dog.”_

Hox scratches his head, glancing at the Bois who give him a reassuring bleat.

“Yeah, so uh. Penny’s onboard because his tech is one of the only reasons we can get through the defenses. And. . . that means he’s taken seventy percent of the cut. Whatever we find, well uh. . .”

Sir Pentious grins. “Lucky to be even left with scraps! But a fitting royalty for one such as I.”

You almost cough. Holy _shit._ Angel sputters, scowling. “What!?”

“Oh, don’t make that face, poor little strumpet,” mocks Pentious. “I could easily make it _more.”_

“Not necessary,” cuts in Hox, fast. “It’s a fair cut. More than fair. His tech is pulling a lot of the load.”

Well. . . if seventy percent means avoiding literal death-dealing traps, you’ll take it. Ironic that, once again, Pentious is at the center of a heist, just in a more direct way.

“Okay,” you concede. “Cold seventy.”

Angel seethes, saying nothing. Hox takes that as his moment to continue. “Right, so, don’t be mad. But, me and my bud here are gonna play the quiet game. We’ll push in through the side. There’s a small tunnel system we can access, brings us right in. Shut off power, cut wires, whatever we gotta do. Get the body.”

You nod. “Uhh. . . why would we be mad, now?”

Hox chuckles, looking at your spider. “Ehm, well. Angel isn’t exactly quiet, so I need him as backup with Pentious. Both as our way out and to shove his metaphorical fist up this place’s ass once it’s time to scoot.”

Pentious blinked. “I agreed to no such thing!”

For a moment, Angel said nothing. Then, he threw his head back, laughing. “Wahahaah! Wow, looks like you’n me gonna’ get real personal. Ya’ stuck with me, bitch! Ahaha!”

Oh god. “Hox. . .” you say. “You _sure_ about that?”

“No.”

Angel waves a hand, mood switching gears. “Aww don’t worry ya’ pretty little heads. I’ll be on my _best behavior,_ ehehehe!”

Hox shrugs. “I know it ain’t ideal, but this isn’t the kinda’ operation we go in guns blazing. That’s the outro, ya feel me?”

Sir Pentious shudders. “The last thing I need lingering around my delicate machinery is a flirty floozy with no self-control!”

Angel rests his chin on hands. “Ooh, yeah, I bet you’ze is _real_ delicate like. But don’t flatter ya’self, toots, m’spoken for.”

Sir Pentious guffaws. “You? _You!?_ Married!?”

Angel sneers and pulls his glove down, where the faint mark of a serpentine-like insignia is visible. “Guilty as charged.”

Pentious blinks, in disbelief. “Oh. . . well. Congratulations! The poor _bastard.”_

One of the Egg Boys tugged on Sir Pentious’ coil. He leaned while the guard muttered, Pentious’ expression shifting from disbelief to shock. He straightened, looking between you and Angel.

“I need a sssnifter of port.”

“Are we done airing our dirty laundry?” cut in Hox. “Or can we continue?”

Again, Angel waved his hand. “Yeahyeahyeah, keep ya’ red rocket in the bag, Hoxxy. M’listenin’.”

“You’ve got more specifics, I assume?” you say.

Hox glances around, checking for observing eyes. “Yeah. I can’t get too in depth in public, but you’ve got the basics. We crack her open like an egg. . .”

A hushed gasp from the Egg Boys.

“Sorry. We _break in,_ keep noise level to zero, find the body, grab it, then vamoose.”

You nod, gears in your head whirring, musing over the mechanics of the plot. “We need a timeframe. Patrols, personnel count. How big is this body supposed to be, anyway? How are we getting it out?”

Hox looks to Pentious. “Our fine friend here is providing the getaway. Kinda hard to take down a flying blimp, ain’t it?”

Pentious hisses. “Blimp!? Your insufferable, antiquated understanding of my brilliance is wearing my thin patience to a sliver!”

Angel snorts. “What’da fuck ya’ s’posed to call it then? Flyin suppository?”

You cut in before the situation escalates. “Works well enough. But. . . what, you just want Angel to put himself at risk? You said these idiots were holding Exterminator tech.”

Angel looks to you now and smiles. “Awwww, what’cha worried about me for, babe! Ain’t nobody gonna’ get the jump on me!”

The last thing you want is for Angel to be in harm’s way. Yes, he’s a one-spider army, but that doesn’t mean you like the idea.

“I don’t know. . .”

Hox nods. “I get it, but hey, occupational hazard. Besides, just a few explosions will do fine, something to get some chaos going, yeah? Fuck, snipe some skulls if ya’ want, it’s just a little shock and awe.”

That doesn’t settle your nerves. Sensing this, Angel tugs you and makes you look at him. For a moment, his snark vanishes, his sarcasm fades, and he reassures you with a small kiss.

“Ey. I’ll be fine. Ya’ know me.”

Hmm. Yeah. Yeah, he’s right! He’s Angel fucking Dust. He’s done this before, for years. It’s fine, everything will be fine.

“Ya’ sendin’ a gunslut to do what he does best. De’ze wackjobs ain’t gonna now left from up when I get done with em.”

“I like that,” says Hox. “I feel safer already.”

In a way, so do you. “Just try not to level a building, okay hon?” you say, somewhat joking. Somewhat.

“No prooooomises.”

Pentious cuts in, grunting. “This plan lacks _ssstyle.”_

“And a timeframe,” you add.

Hox leans back, taking a drink, considering. “Sooner the better. Longer I wait the worse the situation guess. They might even toss the body to somebody else. I’m aiming for a few days from now.”

Damn, a few days? “Shit, Hox. Not much to work with.”

“Hey, I’d take my time with this, but wolf’s at the door, so I better deliver the meat.”

He looks between everyone. “That sound good? This work? Speak up now, cause once this train leaves ain’t no stoppin’ it. I’m getting the stiff, one way or the other.”

You’d prefer time, _way_ more time, but it’ll have to do. Normally you’d scope this warehouse out over a course of weeks, learn patrols, check entry points, see if you could pay someone off, etc. So many variables to consider. But, if you did _your_ job right, time wasn’t necessary.

“It’s rough as shit,” you say. “But it’s doable.”

Angel shrugs. “If my man think we can do it, I’m in. Give me an excuse to roll some palookas, anyway.”

Hox glances at Pentious, who rolls his eyes.

“It’s doomed to fail without the likes of I and my brilliant engineering. You’re lucky I’ve something to gain or I’d just _watch_ you fail, hah!”

“You tell em boss!” said no. 22.

“He’s the best!” chimed no. 6.

“Maybe we’ll get to see his _raygun,”_ simpered no. 34.

“Baaah!” the Bois bleat.

Hox, for the first time, looks relieved. “Well, fuck me. This is something ain’t it? My keester ain’t so red. I owe you all a round!”

“Fuck yeah!” pipes up Angel. “Let’s get fuckin’ TRASHED! SHOOOTS!”

Shots? Is that a good idea? You look at Angel and his visage is positively manic with excitement. He looks real happy, like all the troubles of the past have melted away, like he’s pushed aside problematic history and just enjoying himself again. That’s. . . good. Right? Maybe he needs this. Maybe this will help him get over Junior.

You too.

Fine, then. “Square up bitches,” you say, pulling out a lighter. “I’m gonna drink you prom queens under the table.”

Seeing _you_ get into it makes Angel shiver. He throws an arm around you. “ATTA BOY, ATTA BOY!”

Angel makes a pose, yanks out his Hellphone, and poses with you. “SELFIE, BITCH!”

Shots are provided. You promptly light the top of one, knocking back the literal liquid fire, coughing the harsh, burning bourbon, hitting your chest with fist.

“Drink thy foe,” you sputter.

Angel meets your swig, knocking one back in cheerful unison. “What he said!”

-*-

Despite its tense beginning, the evening falls into a surprisingly pleasant outing. Pentious isn’t much for conversation but he isn’t trying to turn your head into a puddle of mushy-goo, so there’s that. Every drink you knock back puts you more at ease, gets those filters off, starts unfastening the reservations of control you typically keep up. The buzz arrives, bringing oceans of pleasant warmth that make _you_ forget too. About the past, the Hotel, hell, even Hox’s plan. When you’re swimming, all you see is an island, and stretched out in skimpy bikini attire is the spider, beckoning. Brrr.

There’s a stopping point, though. The Egg Boys eventually hoist Pentious away from the table when he starts slurring about his paternal duties to Angel.

“You shhhhhould drink more juiiiice,” he hisses, his one-eyed top hat drooping over him. “Good for the dighesthion.”

Being a veteran, Angel’s hardly futzed, though he’s looser and his motions are wobblier, as with you.

The Bois, who _barely_ partake, are a little flushed, but avoided drinks since they were the designated drivers.

“Heh,” gurgles Hox. “Nothin’ brings a crew together like getting’ fucking skunked.”

Angel finishes one of his last drinks. “A-fuckin’-men, pooch.”

Pentious proceeds to fall over, caught by one of the Egg Boys. This procures a snicker from Angel who watches the Victorian get hoisted off, mutter and mumbling.

“Always knew ol’ shit twizzler was a lightweight, nyeaha!”

“Neh,” you say, a bit sloshed. “Bet he likes wine.”

Your spider chuckles, leaning into you. You breathe and, shit, the scent of his perfume fills you, the proximity of his frame filling you with heat. _That_ kind of heat. Goddamn, easy, you’re not even back home yet. Too bad Angel picks up on it.

Hox staggers, straightening himself, ignoring the aggravated glances of spandex wearing demons. “Wellll, much as I hate to turn down a night of lost memories and blackouts, thinkin’ we oughta head back, yeah?”

The Bois bleat in unison, nodding. You stand too, soft in the legs, ready to go, but. . .

“We’ll catch up, Hoxxy,” said Angel, snagging your arm. You blink, glancing at the spider.

“We will?”

“Yeah,” he says, mischief coating his tone. “We’ze just gonna’ take a quick walk is all, ain’t we?”

“. . .we are?”

Before Hox can ask or you protest any further, he’s got you by the arm, leading you downstairs and outside _The_ _Vaudevillain._ The streets aren’t terribly crowded – for Pentagram City, anyway – the onslaught of pinkish-red lights bathing you both while Angel leads you along down the sidewalk. You keep steady, lead by his hand, the warmth of his clutching fingers keeping you close.

You gotta’ wonder where you’re going. But, part of _not_ knowing carries a dark thrill, that old primal kernel of lust that got you all wrapped in Angel in the first place. The sneaking off, the plotting, it’s. . . sort of a rush. The night life, the implications of knocking over a score and all that involves. The exhilaration has never truly faded, you’ve just avoided it because it’s caused – for the most part – pain. You wanna’ get better, to be good for yourself _and_ Angel, so that Junior’s passing meant something.

But, uh, fuck, this feels good. There’s a madness and energy to Hell and Angel is nothing but a pure magnet for it. Maybe. . . it’s okay to forget a while, too? Just a bit.

Angel yanks you passed a small crowd and into an alley next to the bar. It’s lit enough you can make each other out, but plenty dark to keep you hidden from prying eyes. Prying, because as the spider lures you into his metaphorical web, you’re getting the idea. You can _feel_ his soul driving into yours, and there’s a lot of excitement, ecstasy. . . lust.

 _Shit._ It’s been a spell since you got to really _look_ at Angel in his element. The way his hips toss, stride along the ground, kinky boots click, how his eyes promise a world of things you find so much comfort it. The booze has loosened you up, sure, but _shit,_ your husband is a beautiful fucking thing, and you ache now, ache with a pain only he has drugs for. Him.

He surprises you with a swift motion, shoving you into the hard wall. His form presses against you, fluff cleavage pancaking against your suited chest, lips running to yours, wild as horses, so close you can taste him.

“Figure we’d make up fer’ a lost opportunity, eh?” he whispers, arms around your waist. “Last time we’ze in an alley we got _rudely_ interrupted. . .”

Last time? That was way back. Guess he meant the previous instance you both “encountered” Pentious.

“Right here?” you chide with a smirk. “How filthy.”

He grins, gold tooth glinting, palm slipping to your loins, cupping the steadily growing bulge within. “ _You fuckin’ love it.”_

Not that you’re complaining. You do, because you love him. “The hell got into you?” you say, rasping, pushing your arm around his back, careful with the metal prosthetic.

More lip smacks, wet touches, tongues meeting. He’s so close you can taste his breath. “Ain’t no fun bein’ a sober hoe,” he shoots, caressing your crotch.

His proximity hits you like liquid fire. Your blood runs hot and your chest hammers. You can feel his heartbeat too, a pair of drums rutting in unison. Fuck, hell, shit, you gotta’ be with your spider now, _inside_ him.

“Coulda’ just gotten a taxi,” you mutter, feeling his mouth go to your neck, filling you with searing, copious heat.

“Where’s da fun in that?” he says, voice low, picking apart your trousers and pulling free your hardening flank.

Urgh. He’s overwhelming now. His presence, his persona, everything that makes him _Angel Dust_ hits you like a ten-ton truck. The fact that your souls are bound together adds to this, and it’s like his essence is overwhelming you – at least for the time being.

With a practice hand you fish around his thighs and slip panties down, getting handfuls of his generous haunches. Soft, supple rump spills into your normal palm and you have to squeeze, hard, so much you leave marks and Angel whimpers in response.

“Nnf, be gentle with me daddy,” he simpers, coaxing you with words. Agh, he’s doing that now, too? Fuck it, you don’t care. The mind is lost on lust. You’re hit with a desire to be with Angel and just fuck him raw.

“Picked a clumsy spot, smartass,” you say with a hoarse chuckle, feeling your loins exposed to the evening air. Not the most ideal place for a bang, but it’s exciting for a rough go.

“Aww, don’t worry, I’ll make it _real_ nice. . .”

He presses hard into you now, mouths mingling, hot hungry smacks echoing from your raunchy coupling. Angel pulls off his glove, spits on his hand and runs it across your length, rolling and squeezing every inch with practiced precision. Oh Devil, he knows _right_ where to touch you, he’s learned your root like a map, tickling those sensitive parts, lingering at the tip for that one extra special second, touching _you_ instead of just, say, a dick. It may not seem like much, but the intimate understanding of your body, from him, ah you’d never trade that for anything, not for all the loot in Pentagram City.

It makes for an okay surrogate lube, mixed with your presex. It’ll have to do, cause uh, alley sex isn’t exactly streamlined. As he’s close, you can feel his arousal spring to life too, his hard shaft prodding into your abdomen as he grinds against you. Pretty soon, he’s got you slick and wet, enough to make slipping in not so strenuous.

“Ngh, turn around, doof, can’t fuck ya like this,” you say, tone about as competent as a horny beast. But, also, you can’t, his position isn’t convenient.

“If ya’ fuck up m’suit,” he mutters in a playful tone, exchanging position. You’re quick to move, pushing him against the wall where he has to lean, forcing his plush rump to push out.

“This was your idea!” you shoot back, a little slurred. Yeah, it’s about as competent as you can manage. All you see is your lover hot and bothered, the curve of his ass, and his awaiting pucker. You’re as hard as steel, like anyone is so close to the promise of sex. Though you’re drunk, you do your best to push into him _gently._ Saliva is alright but it’s not ideal.

As you do, you spread him, and he offers soft, approving moans as you push into his frame. You grip him close, wrapping a hand under his stomach until you’re buried at the hilt. Fuuuck, it’s so impossibly hot, in the good way. The searing wet tightness is practically choking you, yet, you’re a snug fit. Your bodies are, at this point, primed for the other.

Indescribable need comes next. No matter how many times you’re with Angel, the sex doesn’t get old, because it’s a moment, a small oasis in literal Hell you can escape to. With your slow, rhythmic thrusts, Angel reciprocates by tossing his hips backward, his rump smacking against you, forcing subtle jiggles through his backside accompanied by slurred, mumbling moans. It’s not particularly elegant, cohesive, or thought out, but considering the drinks you’ve both had, it’ll do. All the matters is that you’re with each other, even if it is in a filthy alley.

It's enough. You both can forget a while. You can push aside everything, where you are, all that’s happened. You get, for just a few moments, the sensation of _each other._ You get, for these brief pockets of time, an existence that only belongs to you and the spider, a domain that only you and he share. What you wouldn’t give to have that for him til the end of time, but guess it ain’t so simple.

“Ghhhn! Anon!” you hear him whine, and you lean, having to hold yourself against the wall so you don’t fall over like an idiot. A rushing orgasm comes fast, quick and furious, where you spill into your lover. He does too, his peppermint shaft twitching and bursting with issue, dainty ropes of white splattering the ground as you two shudder and nearly fall in a stupor of orgasmic bliss.

There’s the expected, heavy panting and breathing that follows like you’ve run a marathon. You don’t move, still squeezed and throttled by Angel’s tight ring, and it’s so paralyzing because it’s so _good._ The afterglow instills an amazing buzz, and a cig would be reaaal nice about now.

Angel straightens, huffing, his cheeks flushed. You press in close, covering his frame with your overcoat, hiding him like a shadow. Here, you both just hold, wait, embrace this chemical mixture called “love” for a while.

You manage a weak chuckle. “We gonna’ head home for round two?”

You feel him caress your sides. “Why? Ya’ don’t like the fancy digs?”

“Hah. C’mon. We should probably get back.”

You start to move, but his visage changes. His features soften and his eyes go wide, like he’s. . . afraid.

“Wait,” he says, tone shifting. “We don’t hafta’ go now, right?”

You blink. You look down and zip up, while Angel hoists up his panties. “What’s wrong?”

He looks away. It’s like the bliss got sucked right out of him. “I don’t wanna go back yet. Can we just hit the town fer a while longer? _Please?”_

Suddenly, it hits you. He doesn’t want to go back to the Hotel because it’s a reminder, of everything. he wants all _this,_ he wants to get away, to distract himself. Is that. . . a good idea?

You want him to say more. Just talk, just tell you what’s wrong. But, you _know_ what it is. You can see it within him, hiding behind all the persona and snark, the quiet agony he keeps shoving aside, trying to drown and bury. He just doesn’t want to say it.

“All right,” you say, forcing a smile. “Night’s young.”

He brightens. “Yeah. Yeah! We should get eats. M’hungry. Fuckin’ works up an appetite, ya’ know?”

You both push off from the alley, and you do your best to maintain this enthusiasm. “Mm, I’d kill for a New York steak.”

“Ohhh yeah?”

“I was kidding, Angel.”

Well, he’s happy at least. You’ll ignore things for now, too. Lighten up, that’s all. You’ll get this business with Hox settled and then things should get back to normal. And hell, now that you think about it, Sarakk and Sarin are at the Hotel, and you’re none too eager to see them again.

As you leave, you touchback with Hox and make an excuse. Or rather, get _him_ to make an excuse, though he understands, coming up with some cover story. Whether Charlie bought it or not, well, a different story.

Once again, Pentagram City swallows you and Angel for the night until you settle on a cheap motel. Guess he’s trying to avoid the home scene for as long as possible. As you both settle in for the evening, watching a bunch of shit movies on a shittier TV, there’s one last thought that’s nagging you. You noticed it from before, when Hox was showing you the pictures of the warehouse. He said it was a territory on the East Side.

That warehouse holding the body? That’s on Cherri Bomb’s turf. You’re pretty sure those are some of her goons.

[And Angel doesn’t know.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YA5QJ8wsDp0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A snake, a dog, and a spider? What is this, a Halloween crossover episode?


	4. A Little More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel struggles to confront the past while Anon and Hox finish making plans.

**A Little More**

Don’t let them see you like this. Don’t let _him_ see you like this. Nobody. Not goldilocks, not snatch, not the Hotel, the adorin’ public, and _especially_ not your husband. _They can’t. He can’t._

Angel Dust rubbed his head, two extra hands clutched on the sink edges while the faucet roared to life. He kept it nice and loud, obscuring the small, whimpering noises escaping him, the choked and ragged rasps he coughed up, the shuddering. _The hurt._ The hurt that wouldn’t go away, that _refused_ to, sustained and long and lingering. Felt like ice in his chest, made his throat hot, stung his eyes. He sniffed, annoyed, glaring at himself in the mirror, watching his eyeliner run, hissing.

“Fuckin’ _fuck.”_

He wiped his eyes again, the blotchy, stained tears running down his cheeks. He was part broken, part infuriated.

“Suck it up, bitch!” he screamed at his reflection. “Get da’ fuck over it!”

His only reply was the mocking, broken expression watching him back, visage twisted by tears and anguish. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t fight it. It wasn’t going away. He hugged himself, helpless, shivering with gentle sobs. God, fuck, _shut up,_ someone might hear, and he couldn’t have that. No, _no._ No one should see him like this. He was Angel fucking Dust. What would everyone think out there if they saw Hell’s biggest porn star and criminal aficionada shattered like a little teacup? It was pathetic. What would his _husband_ think?

A little voice whispered in his head. _Ya need to talk to em’. Yer husband._

NO!

No, _please._

Talking meant admitting, owning up to what happened, _confronting the past._

_Ya ain’t gonna’ get over this unless. . ._

SHUT UP!

“Shut up,” he said through clenched teeth, to no one. “Just shut up.”

He rinsed himself off, cool water cleansing his features. The moment he buried his face in hands, he wept. Why? Because of Junior.

It never went away, not really. Losing his adopted son had driven a hot spike of painful torment into his heart ever since the happenings with the _Better Half._ Even though Junior was in a better place, it _still hurt so much._ And he felt worse for it. He felt worse because he wanted his baby back. He wanted to wake up and hold him in his arms and have the punk make a snark wisecrack, and then reprimand him, hug him and. . . and it was greedy! How could he want that!? How could he want his son back in _literal_ Hell, where sinners were sent to _suffer!?_

 _I’d protect him!_ A part of him always protested.

 _Ya’ let him fuckin’ die,_ the other quickly reminded. _He died allll alone cause ya’ weren’t there. Some parent ya’ turned out to be._

He buckled. He couldn’t stop the tears, the hot sting in his throat. This was so fucking stupid! How was he not over this!? That was it, it was done, kid gone, into Heaven or whatever, happy ending! Happy _fucking_ ending! He was married, his husband was always there for him! Great, wonderful, amazing!

Yet those unyielding memories never stopped. They kept biting and hurting. No matter how hard he tried to reject them, they lingered. Because, for once in his lifetime, he had a chance to really be better, to do something he never thought he wanted until he had it: to raise a little family, to dote on a kid, to give a child a life he didn’t have. And he _failed._

He let his hands fall from face, scowling, scolding himself. “Y-ya done ya crybaby bitch?” he rasped, voice weak.

Devil, what time was it? People were gonna look for him soon. He sniffed, forcing himself to stand. Forcing the memories away, burying them, burying them _hard._ Just like with a lot of things. Cherri. . . he hadn’t seen her since his honeymoon went to shit, and they didn’t end on good terms. Then that skank, that slut, that ex-bitch Annie! She got away! And, and, and those two fucking _things_ living at the Hotel, serving as a reminder of everything! And Henry appearing and family and all this other crazy bullshit!

And then that one, dark, cold fact, lingering in the shadows of his memories, wearing its foul grin and heart-shaped glasses, beckoning, whispering, promising.

No, fuck all of that and fuck this and fuck feeling sad.

He straightened, cleaning himself. “Fuck bein’ a sober hoe,” he said aloud, like a prayer. Yeah. Sobriety. Wasn’t helping, was it? You know what fixed things? What helped?

_Drugs._

Just something to take the edge off. Anything. He wasn’t slipping back, no! No, he wasn’t! He _wasn’t!_ He just needed to blur those lines and drown those thoughts, drown them until they floated away in a river of liquor, til he couldn’t recognize them.

_You tryin’ t’forget about Junior?_

Angel growled. He yanked open his cabinet, strolling through the armada of various personal items until he found a few unmarked bottles filled with pills. Pop off, pop in. Some buzzers to that good shit going, strip off the foul vibes. What next? A hard drink. He prettied himself up and then went to his room stash, finding that good ol _Hibiki_ and knocking back about three shots. A quick and easy buzz, a little tipsy.

Not bad. What about that bag of sparkling powder he hid away for an “emotional emergency?” He stopped, hestitating. Fat Nuggets appeared from a corner and oinked playfully, to which Angel immediately reciprocated with an enthusiastic pet.

“Nugsy!” he chimed. “Ya’ little runt. Daddy ain’t feelin’ so hot.”

Fat Nuggets tilted his head. “Oink?”

Angel offered a sad smile, putting a finger to lips. “Shhh. Our secret, baby. Don’t tell Anon, okay?”

Nugget’s corkscrew tail wiggled, not understanding.

“Good boy.”

Distraction. Devil, Angel needed a distraction. Thank all dicks below, because this little escapade red-rocket had planned was _perfect._ The violence, the scene, the ambiance, the madness of the city, he could get lost in it, and forget. All he needed was an anchor to keep his kinky-boots grounded. Anon would, he knew it. His husband was always there, always figuring shit out, keeping hm steady, yanking him out of the abyss of _himself._

_Kinda’ fucked to put all dat shit on him, ain’t it?_

Angel ignored the thought and took one more swig of his poison. He gave a harsh exhale, letting that warm, fuzzy bliss overwhelm him. Urgh. Not bad. A gentle numbness. Not really enough though, not at all. More would be nice.

-*-

“More” was company, or at least hassling it.

Angel sauntered his way downstairs, eager for something to rile up or quip at or just _talk_ to. Mostly that was with his man, but, he just couldn’t face him yet. He needed to warm up. And, lo and behold, at the front desk were the tried and true duo: Vaggie and Husk.

“Snatch n’whiskers. Ya’ know the way you’ze two hang off eachother I can swear you was havin’ an affair.”

Vaggie rolled her eye as the spider approached, arms crossed, while Husk – well – acted as Husk usually did: drunk and grumbly.

“We socialize, Angel,” said Vaggie. “You know, what normal, healthy people do?”

Angel laughed, resting his back on the concierge desk, wearing a smirk. _“Normal?_ Ahaha, bitch if you was normal then I think I’ll stay fucked n’fabulous.”

“Try the first part,” snarled Husk. “And stay fucked.”

Angel winked. “Love ya’ too, whiskers. Besides, ya’ oughta know m’doin’ that allll the time with my man, nehehe.”

Husk made a gagging sound while Vaggie just sighed. “Okay, _easy_ , you two. I know we’re all a little on edge. . .”

“A little?” Husk groused. “I can barely get to sleep boozed up, now! How am I s’posed to function without my ten-hour drunk naps!?”

“Try drugs, barfly,” chided Angel. “The hell ya’ so wound up fer, anyway?”

Vaggie cast him a blank look. “Angel. Really?”

“Yeah, _really._ What prickly dick did you two sit on?”

“Them, you idiot!” snapped Husk, pointing. “The Miss has lost her shit! F’real this time!”

Them? Angel followed where the feline was pointing to see. . .

His smile faded and he quieted. “Oh. Them.”

In the room, Charlie was chattering at the leviathan bug and his companion bun, gesturing about, her eyes dazzling. She seemed _over the moon_ those two were part of the Hotel now and couldn’t help but pour on her ideas of “redemption” and “getting better.” The big one, Sarakk, gave her a distant, thousand-yard stare, as if he wasn’t all there. The rabbit? Couldn’t read her. Psycho-bitch never seemed to stop smiling. She and Al could get real close, Angel wagered.

Fuck. Angel was so glad he got nice and buzzed, because their proximity was reminder enough, and he couldn’t handle that shit sober.

“I still owe dat’ buggy fuck,” he commented, flexing two of his hands. “Bitch ruined a perfectly good pair o’ pink silkies!”

There was a _gentle_ slur to his words, enough that Vaggie glanced to her spidery friend, giving him a concerned once over. She didn’t forget, either.

“Uh. Angel.”

“That’s m’name.”

She paused, mulling her question over. “You holding up?”

Angel glanced at her and gave her a forced smirk. “Haha, w-what? Da’ hell ya’ talkin’ bout? I’m aces.”

“You came back late the other night.” Vaggie squinted. She noticed Angel’s yellow-ish eye wore a timid pink hue.

Husk noticed her tone too, looking over at Angel, with dare one say, _concern._ All feelings and past histories aside, he wasn’t so indifferent to see things were _off._ It didn’t take a therapist to catch that, or to care.

Angel scoffed. “So fuckin’ what! Whattya’, my nanny?”

Vaggie looked to Husk, who offered a stiff frown. The cat saw it too.

“Angel,” Husk started. “You keepin’ that nose clean?”

At this, Angel pushed away from the desk, glaring at the other two. “Scuse me?”

“You’ve been drinking,” said Vaggie, flat.

“More than that,” added Husk.

For a moment, Angel considered screaming at them. His temper rushed and he thought about flipping them off, literally and figuratively. But, psh, fuck that and fuck feelin’ bad! No _way_ he was gonna’ let his buzz get knocked over, _no way._ Because _if he wasn’t high then he had to remember._

“Awhahaha, sorry that you’ze two forgot what a good time looks like. Don’tcha worry your pretty little heads ‘bout me.”

Vaggie wasn’t thrown off.

“Angel. . .”

The spider turned away, wiggling his hand around. “AngelAngelAngel, wah, wah, wah, ya’ such a broken’ record, snatch.”

She wouldn’t budge. “You can _talk_ to us.”

Husk managed a nod. “Not like we got much better to do until the Miss gets her head on straight. C’mon, spill it legs.”

Talk? Talk!? _NO._

Talking meant admitting, talking meant visiting all those places, those _memories,_ confronting everything, facing his pain, his loss, his history. It was too much, and Angel couldn’t do it. No, _wouldn’t_ do it. He wasn’t about that. A lifetime of pain was enough for him, thank you very fucking much. Fuck. Being. A. Sober. Hoe. He was gonna’ _live_ again. He was gonna get high and stay high. He was gonna’ drown in his husband’s love and never come down.

This side shebang, perfect, too perfect. Awh, they’d get on that sinful night-life shit. Some easy thrills with a smalltime job and then livin’ it up at clubs and the scene and showing Anon off. And friends! Gah, Angel hadn’t been with friends in a while. The kind that praised him for just existing.

_Oh yeah, whatta’bout gettin’ better? Ya know, for yerself. All that preachy shit you was doin’ way back then._

Angel forced his smile.

_I still am, fucko! I just need a fuckin’ break! Can ya’ give me a fuckin’ break!? I been doin’ this shit for over fifty years, what am I, s’posed to be as clean as a nun’s cunt now!?_

Just a break. Just a break. Just something.

_Haha, what would Junior say?_

He almost fractured. Almost.

“Talk? Pfft. A’ight, fine, ya’ gonna hear me yap about suckin’ dick, is dat it?”

Husk groused. “Ya’ know what we mean.”

Angel snorted. “Wow, so’ze suddenly you takin’ an interest in m’personal life? Well, tell ya what, swing by my room, we’ll do ya’ nails, talk about _boys,_ whole fuckin’ nine yards.”

Vaggie huffed. “Hey, knock it off! We’re trying to help!”

“Pfft, I didn’t ask ya’ fer ya advice. ‘Sides, when exactly have you two been shinin’ examples of good behavior?”

Husk’s drunk patience was already vaporizing. “I dunno, kids don’t normally die cause of me.”

Even Vaggie winced, making a small pained sound and rubbing her head. “Husk. . .”

Angel twirled to face the winged-feilne . He was still grinning, but his teeth were clenched _hard._ He leaned to Husk, all four hands resting on the concierge desk.

 _“You real fuckin’ funny, whiskers,”_ he hissed, the venom audible in his tone. “Oughta’ tell jokes. _Standup._ Got _any more,_ comedy man?”

Husk blinked, grunting, turning away, taking a swig of booze. “Hmph.”

“No?” Angel seethed. Vaggie stepped between them.

“Get some air.”

Angel stepped back, sniffing, forcing a laugh, crossing extra arms. “ _Yeah,_ air. You’ze two is a buzzkill. See ya’, losers.”

As fast as he arrived, he waltzed off, putting as much distance between him and they, briefly rubbing his eyes.

Vaggie watched him go, grimacing.

“Husk, that was. . . that was bad.”

He scoffed. “What? I ain’t good at this.” Another swig.

“Besides, what else was I gonna’ say? You _saw_ that, right?”

Vaggie saw a lot of things, but she didn’t want to believe it. “If I think it’s what you mean. . .”

“High. He was fuckin’ high. Or drunk. Or both. He’s slippin’ worse than a fawn on ice.”

Vaggie crossed her arms. “He’s just having a hard time.”

Husk frowned. Not from agitation, just sadness. He’d seen that kinda’ thing before, and pulling someone out of the black abyss of themselves was hard. Angel Dust? Christ among the dead, how to even approach that?

“He’ll be okay,” she added, defiant.

Husk gave a bitter chuckle.

_“He’ll be okay.”_

-*-

_I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay._

Stupid wisecracking bitch. Funny, real fucking funny, Husk. Fuck. It was coming back, that hot pained surge, running through Angel’s chest. No, he didn’t want it and he wasn’t gonna have it. Distraction. Distraction. He needed one, bad. Distraction.

Anon. ANON. Husband. Hubs. Fixes everything. Always around. Always there. Find him. Find Anon. he’d make it okay. He’d help him forget and make the hurt stop. He always did, somehow. Just get him in a state to push these thoughts aside.

Where? He felt like he was running, dashing around the Hotel, even though he was taking normal, careful steps. Things were a blur. Then, it clicked: oh, the office! He was usually hangin’ around there.

He guessed right. He reached the office on the third floor, where the door was partly opened. Angel almost sprinted for it, but caught himself. Fuck. Easy. Don’t go looking all desperate, all fuck-crazed and looney. He took a breath, straightening out his suit, fluffing up his impromptu cleavage, wiping back his hair tuft. Took those thoughts, those bad memories and shoved them way, _way_ down. Last person in his world he needed to see him in a broken state was his Anon. Anon needed his spider to be tip-top shape, fun, dependable, _strong._ He said that so many times.

So smile, bitch, smile for the crowd.

When he got closer, he heard voices. His man and someone else.

“. . .big are we talking?”

“I don’t know, it’s a body, how big can it be?”

Oh. Red-rocket. Hox.

“It’s hell, man, gimme a ballpark! We got demons the size of tanks out there.”

“Ehh, I wouldn’t worry so much. The getaway is big enough. I promise. Unmarked van, she’s got a wide ass, it’ll be fine.”

They were talking about. . . the job? Yeah, probably. And, for some reason, Angel waited. He listened. He listened because he could get lost in the conversation. It was his husband’s world, or what he came from, and he didn’t always “get it,” a lot like his man didn’t “get” where Angel came from, all that vice. Not out of misunderstanding, just two worlds intersecting.

“And what if they spot the van?”

“They won’t!”

“When they _do?”_

A dry chuckle and sigh. “That’s why we got backup.”

“You’re gonna’ put my husband’s life at risk cause you couldn’t be assed to think this through?”

Another laugh. “Easy, buddy, _easy._ Nobody’s gonna’ hurt. He can flash em’ for all I care. We just need some fireworks. And besides, ya forget about Penny?”

Warmth. A little surge of warmth. It was pretty easy to be kind and sweet to your lover when they were around, _of course,_ but, hearing Anon talk about Angel when he wasn’t there. . . it felt really good. So good it helped him forget about the little “conversation” with snatch and whiskers.

“Did _you?”_

Angel heard Hox grunt. “Ya’ getting pretty uppity, kiddo.”

His husband grunted. “Your plan is a complete fuck-show and we get one shot. It’s a fucking tire-fire. It’s _the worst._ But you’re my friend and I’m gonna’ help you.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too buddy.”

There was a pause. That was enough for Angel to leap at the opportunity, shoving his way in, brandishing a smile, his swagger, his _persona._

“Eyyyy pockets!”

Pockets – the little nickname Angel bequeathed his man a long way back – nearly buckled over. He was in a chair, Hox standing to the side, the opposite wall covered with blurry photos of the warehouse they were opting to knock over. Anon swiveled, expression surprised. Then he smiled.

“Holy shit, peppermint, scared me.”

Angel snickered. “Sorry babe, I love a big entrance.”

He strut forward, wiggling fingers and winking at Hox. “Second time I caught ya’ with my man, poochie. You sure you two ain’t shaggin’?”

Hox’s Doberman features stretched with a grin. “Oh, you’d know if we were.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Anon commented. He stood, and at once, Angel embraced him.

This was it. This was about the only thing holding him together, that made sense. The proximity and warmth of Anon’s stature, the gravity of his presence, where his hand curled around his left side _just so,_ how he was extra gentle with his prosthetic, where his fingers briefly rubbed Angel’s back. Yeah, all that, all that good shit, it brought him down, it leveled him, it made him feel safe. He needed to get away from the light of _himself,_ to hide in the shadow of his husband.

Hox tilted his head and cleared his throat. “You lovebirds need the room?”

Angel waved a hand. “Naw, you’ze stay put, Hoxxy. I ain’t here t’interrupt.”

Please. Distract. Talk. Anything.

“Not at all,” Anon reassured. “I was just _fixing_ this circus act Hox calls a plan.”

“Hey, circuses are entertaining,” challenged the dog.

Angel pushed from the hug, looking at the wall-bound photos with _slight_ interest. He didn’t rightly care too much about it, if he was honest. The heist was an excuse to itch his achy trigger-finger, _and_ to get out and live it up. If _anything,_ it also got his man’s blood boiling. Ugh. Drugs, money, sex, it was so close he could _taste_ it, and parts of him wanted that back, just for a little while.

Yeah. He’d dip in for a bit, lose himself, forget, then be done with it. He could manage that. Easy, right?

_Is dat so, wise guy? And what about Anon, ya’ thought bout’ dat?_

About _what?_ Anon was always around to protect him. He wouldn’t let anything happen.

_Hah, and here you’ze though he was bad for you._

Ugh, shut up.

“Well, anyway,” Hox said, continuing. “You’re worried for nothing. This is a smash and grab, nothing crazy. These fuckers, they’re a small time operation, buncha’ nobodies sitting in on turf and trying to get all gung-ho. They don’t even know what they have!”

Angel watched his husband grimace. He was really cute when he was getting uppity about stuff. When it came to his “old” antics he was real fuckin’ cock crazy about it.

“We don’t even know their patrols, or how many, or _where they even shit.”_

Angel chuckled. “Dat somethin’ ya need to know, baby?”

“Hah, yeah,” Hox piled in.

Anon shook his head. “Don’t. . . you two start agreeing. It’s just opportunity. Knowing where everything is so we’re not caught with our dicks out!”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that,” purred Angel. Anon looked at the spider, helpless.

Hox shrugged again. “We improvise, friend. If this was a bigger score I’d be with you, but this is like a bunch of junkies in a warehouse with shit way out of their league.”

“Yeah!” Angel piped up. “C’mooon, pockets, where’s m’wild stallion? I wanna see my bronco buck!”

Anon rubbed his head. Cutie. Pulled Angel right out of his funk, hah! Buzz was coming back nice and easy, like the talk didn’t even happen! He just needed something to _really_ top it off.

Hox rumbled with chortles. “Bronco?”

Angel flicked his mismatched eyes to the Doberman demon and grinned. “Oooh, now I know you’ze two ain’t been sneakin’ around, cause you woudla’ seen why, Hoxxy.”

“Hah,” chimed Hox. “I prefer goats, not horses.”

“I’ll never figure dat one out, pooch.”

“What? They’re shortstacks. Look, it’s like, the difference and they’re twins, and-”

“Hey!” Anon started. “Focus?”

Hox waved a hand. “Buddy! Come on, relax. Look, you know what we’re doing. Tunnels, up through the manhole, in the warehouse, grab body, shut their security shit off and bam, we’re out!”

Angel glanced to his man, who didn’t look convinced. “Sounds good t’me!” added the spider. “In and out faster than a lubed asshole!”

Hox nodded. “He’s got it.”

Anon rubbed his head. “Great.”

The conversation wrapped up fast after the fact. Hox mentioned they’d be running the heist in two days, so time wasn’t on their side. When he left the office, Angel was secretly relieved.

Anon, in the meantime, stared at the wall plans, taking a marker and making circles on the plans, drawing lines, adding notes. Always thinking, his man. Too much. Thinking wasn’t good right now. Thinking meant they’d remember, and remembering. . .

So, Angel snuck right up and swung all four arms around his shadow. “Hey.”

He earned a soft chuckle. “Peppermint.”

“You’ze tense, Anon.”

He turned, facing Angel. “I am? Eh, you know, just the job. I’d always get this way before a mark.”

Angel snorted. “Da’ hell ya’ so worried about, babe? Ya heard red-rocket, just a buncha’ palookas. Think of it, like, uhhh. . .” he wiggled his fingers, then snapped them.

“Oh! Exercise! A jog! Ehehe.”

Anon sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Not like the casino.”

“S’like I says. Who cares if some jaggoffs get hurt?”

Anon didn’t respond at once, and in fact, seemed restrained. “Ugh, I just wanted more prep time.”

Angel gestured to himself, puffing out cleavage, proud. “That’s why ya’ got me!”

Anon scoffed. “I’m not risking you because-”

At once, Angel hushed him with a soft palm, pushing his hand over Anon’s mouth. “Nshhh. Shh shh shh.”

“Ya forget who I am?”

He dropped his hand. Anon rolled his eye, smiling. “No.”

And now, a kiss, sweet, soft lips coming forward, releasing Angel from his anguish. Getting him away from himself. It was impossible to feel bad so close to his lover. “Stupid n’cute, as usual.”

“Sexy and psychotic, _as usual.”_

Angel grinned, laughing. “Oh bitch, you fuckin’ love it.”

“You know I do.”

Ooooh, what was that? Oh, Anon, that was a little heat now, wasn’t it?

“You’ze fucked up, stallion,” said Angel. Anon shrugged again.

“Hey, it’s hot when you shoot stuff. Sue me?”

Angel licked his lips. “Naw. I gotsa’ better idea.”

Here we go. This was what he _really_ needed to top it off. His palm rushed to Anon’s crotch, squeezing, caressing, immediately foraging for the dimensions of that hidden length. It procured a deep, heated grunt, Anon huffing in surprise.

“Mmmfn,” Angel seethed, body hot like flash-fire. “Come to bed.”

Anon shuddered, back arching. “We gotta’ wait that long?”

Mm, yes, there he was, there was the stallion. “Dirty fuckin’ horndog.”

“No, gh, that’s Hox.”

Whatever. Didn’t matter. Didn’t matter at all. Angel was content either way to get his man out of clothes. Taking cock, it put him somewhere else. So he did, he fished out Anon’s pike and worked it over, massaging with hands, stroking with careful, yet aggressive motions.

Aggressive? Yeah. He had to. He needed this, he needed to pour _himself_ into Anon. Fuck. Was this right? To think this way? His Anon took everything. He let Angel dump all the hurt in, all the hate and loneliness, all the sadness and trauma. He let Angel escape, and god, did Angel need to run. Help, Anon, help, because Angel was becoming his own prison, _again._

He wasn’t making love this time, he wanted to _fuck._ Fuck and be fucked. In the oasis of their coupling, it was an island away from Hell. So, when Angel slipped Anon’s inches into his mouth, he didn’t take it with gentle, loving motions, he choked himself on it. He gagged and coughed and sputtered, he drove it so deep it made his eyeliner run, and every time his Anon groaned like a wild fucking horse it just got him all the more bothered.

Anon seemed to get it and went hard. Pushed him on their desk, pinned Angel to his back, clenched his hand around the spider’s wrists and just used him, fucked him, filled him. That’s all the spider wanted right now, to have someone take him away, to leave him helpless in this torrent of physical intensity. Anon, ugh, fuck.

As they say, _fuck the pain away._

Angel whined and begged and whimpered and indicated he wanted nothing more than to be used by his husband right now. It was a rush, a dark thrill, pairing so nice with his booze and drugs, the ideal chaser. Like old days, like old times, riding those highs. But it was better now, because it was with someone he loved and trusted. Well, if there was anyone he wanted more than to fuck him like a prissy slut, it was Anon. He’d escape this way.

Ugh, fuck, and when his man finally lost it and filled Angel with seed, it felt right, like a switch had gone off. See? This shit was the best. Fuck being a sober hoe.

His man collapsed on his back, breathing into his neck, and nnf, this was bliss. He just wanted to stay like this. Shit. Why couldn’t it be this way, ya’ know? Just doin’ fun shit, fucking, all that.

_Cause ya’ did it fer years, fucko, and you was tryin’ to get better._

_I still am!_

_Dat so?_

Urgh, no, no more of that.

Eventually the two finished and cleaned up back in Angel’s room, the wonderful ritual of safety and routine they’d come to love over the year. Everything in this world of pink furnishings made sense, at least. Casual clothes, the “off look,” everything.

Anon tossed on something for the night, sitting on bed’s edge, carefully adjusting the hinges of his prosthetic. Angel, in the meantime, was in pink shirt too long, slipping past his curvy waist while he curled into the sheets.

“I feel fucked for saying this,” Anon would say. “But, shit, Angel. I’m kind of excited.”

Angel flicked his man a curious glance. Ooooh.

“Is _dat_ right, pockets?”

“I shouldn’t but, damn.”

Shouldn’t!? What! No way! This was the best!

“Fuck dat,” Angel immediately said. “Ya’ gotta’ live sometimes. We’ze just stretchin’ our legs, is all. Havin’ some fun.”

Anon conceded, shrugging. “Hmm. Yeah, guess you’re right. It’s a small favor, nothing big.”

“Bout time if ya’ ask me,” continued Angel, wiggling one of his fingers. “Gonna’ show ya how it’s fuckin’ done! I aint’ been inna’ scrap since, shit, don’t even remember!”

Anon let out a chuckle. “Take pictures for me.”

Brrr. Now that his husband was getting into this, it only made Angel more excited. “Ohoho, ya’ get the money shots.”

-*-

Angel woke and the spear of anguish came right back. The agony of memory did not leave him, not for long. He flinched, glancing around. His Anon was asleep, as was Fat Nuggets. Shit.

What time was it? Some fucking sinful hour. Angel pulled himself out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. So the high wore off, great. He tore open his glass cabinet and fished out more pills to pop, eager for that buzz. It was hard to fight the tears. Faucet came on, hiding the gentle sob leaving him as he wiped a streak of tears from his cheeks.

When was this going to _stop!?_

_Oh, so ya’ trying to forget Junior, eh? Some fuckin’ mamadad you turned out to be._

SHUT. UP. SHUT UP. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP.

Faucet, on, full blast, hiding the hushed cries.

A while later, a tap on the door. _“Angel? Hon?”_

Anon. ANON! No, NO, Anon could NOT see him like this.

_“You okay babe?”_

Angel forced a pleasant tone. “Jee-zus, pockets, lemme’ take a piss in peace, e-ehehe! I’m f-fine!”

A pause, then. _“Alright, alright, just. . . easy on the soda next time.”_

“Y-yeah, yeah, g-go back t-t’bed!”

Yeah. Everything is fine, baby. Everything. He wasn’t gonna’ let this beat him. He’d drown it, beat it, bury it, whatever it took. He wasn’t going in that hole of himself with all those _issues._ No. He wouldn’t let it. He just needed a little more. They were gonna’ knock that warehouse dump over and Angel had to be in top fucking form.

[He tossed back one more pill. A little more.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmooQqb-K80)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *checks outline notes*
> 
> "Early chapters should be lighthearted in tone."


	5. Friends and Enemies, But Mostly Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Hox infiltrate the warehouse while Angel prepares to strike.

**Friends and Enemies, But Mostly Enemies**

[Dull engine hum, choir of radio, muffled chaos of a sinful city: the music of thieves.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWD7k6TrJ-g)

Strobes of pink-red light wash over the van as it traverses down the wide roads of Pentagram City, a plain, unassuming vehicle, dull and uninteresting. The low volume of the evening news plays in the background, filling the otherwise quiet interior with noise. The vehicle is going somewhere, in such a way that’s a familiar feeling to the passengers, like the old days. Just, a little less bloodshed and much lower stakes this time around.

You finish the rest of your bitter, cheap coffee, senses alert, as forests of skyscrapers pass over you while the van rumbles along, maintaining its low profile. To your left, driving, is Hox, his expression hard and set, focusing on the road. Or rather, the task ahead. Time is a currency he can’t afford to waste, and tonight, you’re here to make good on your favor and see him through this little scheme. You’re both heading towards the mark, consumed by the ritual of calm, the silence before the storm.

You replay the scenario in your mind several times, like you’ve always done, imagining each sequence, what you’ll do, and what you’ll do when it goes _bad_. Cause it always does, right? Or, maybe it won’t. Maybe, for once, things will work out. _Hah._ Well, at least, in each plan you roll through your mind, there’s no reality-ending demons this time or artifacts capable of sundering time and space.

Hox didn’t seem to think so, either. Casual and aloof, thus far, treating it like a smash and grab. Technically he was right. He was focused, yes, but not worried. After all, a warehouse wasn’t Lucifer’s vault and small-time thugs weren’t much a threat on their own. Did they have angelic weaponry and auto-turrets to keep competition out? Yeah. Was that enough to worry Hox? Apparently not.

But was it really _the job_ unsettling you? Not exactly. It was a powder keg situation because of one detail you kept on the low.

This warehouse was in Cherri Bomb’s turf. What with the Extermination, collapse of the Commission and the whole Abaddon thing, a lot of valuable chunks of Pentagram City were freed up for claim. Nothing substantial to build an empire on, but enough that notable demons like Cherri got a bigger playground to futz around in, and with it, a little marching band to call her own. Cherri never struck you as a big planner or someone with a long-term goal outside of colorful chaos, but she was magnetic enough that sinners flocked to her, wearing her colors in tribute. In exchange for licking her heels and keeping her shit safe, they probably got a little protection.

It was _these_ goons holding Hox’s prize hostage. These goons with a direct line to the self-proclaimed “spunky powerhouse,” and if this shit went south, well. . . _would she show up?_

Cherri didn’t worry you. That much. But _Angel_ did. Despite your problems with her in the past, she was still his friend. You weren’t in the business of isolating Angel from people he knew, even if she was a wild card. And that said, if she found out you, Hox, and Pentious were all snooping around _with_ the spider to rob her? She wouldn’t be happy. More importantly, how would your _husband_ feel? Not telling him was a huge risk, but you figured this would be over and done with before things got too hectic. And, Penny was technically going to steal the show, so it’d look like _he_ was the one pulling the strings. But if it didn’t, what was the alternative?

Maybe you were overthinking it. How much did Cherri care about this little cut of territory, anyway? It was just some ragtag warehouse on the ass end of the East Side with a bunch of nobodies. Thugs watching junk. She probably wouldn’t even notice.

“Eye up.” Hox’s gruff voice pulls you out of your mediation as you glance up at the road.

The streets are changing. Buildings shift from opulent to worn down. Not entirely decrepit, but rough and bullet-ridden, damaged. A lot of fights happen out here, looks like. As the van tumbles on, to your distant left is a large, wide structure, maybe the size of a Bloodball field or so. Massive floodlights shower it with pale rays and its surrounded by fences which are – as far as you can see – wearing the entrails of assailants. Spikes adorn the chain-link exterior and random limbs are caught along it, with shoddy painted signs saying ‘ _KEEP THE FUK OUT’_ plastered along the fence.

Hox gets close but leaves about five blocks between you and the building. Instead, he finds a dark spot under an underpass, parking the van so you both have time to scope the place out and prepare.

You flex your hands, prosthetic whirring with clicks. This is a little different than your previous scores, and not just because it’s Hox’s show. It requires better tools for stealth instead of “shock and awe” tactics. As such, a suit and overcoat’s a little played out when you need to be quick. So, both you and Hox are in black fitting attires with the demon equivalent of Kevlar vests, strapped with your suppressed weapons and explosives. You don’t plan on needing them, but it’s a fool’s errand to go in totally unprepared. Hopefully, it won’t be necessary, but it’s Hell, it’s _always_ necessary.

“That fancy hand do anything?” Hox said, voice low, while he checks his ammunition.

You shrug. “It’s got a nasty left hook, but other than that, couldn’t tell you.”

He looks at you. “Hmm. Ya’ know. . . reminds me. You and the spider are hitched on the wrist, yeah?”

“. . .yeah?”

Hox returns his ghostly eyes to the distant warehouse complex. “Well, If I got it all square in my head, means your souls are mixed together like a fucked-up soup.”

Wait, what? “Uh, alright?”

“Abridged version: you can probably do what the spider does.”

You blink. That takes you off guard. Do what _Angel_ does? “Look, I might blow my _husband_ , but I’m not looking to turn tricks.”

Hox gives a dry chuckle, ears flicking at the van radio. “Don’t mean that. Talkin’ bout his fancy tricks. What with the guns and bombs and shit.”

It takes you a moment to process this. You realize, he means when Angel _summons_ weapons. Huh. That’s an interesting thought, something you’re not sure on though.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “ _Highly_ doubt it.”

“How would you know unless you tried? Just think about it. Might save your life. Especially _now._ ”

Again, you’re not certain. But he might be on to something. You definitely _feel_ Angel differently, like he’s with you, even when he’s not. And, true, your souls _are_ Bound. Maybe you could, in theory, conjure up weapons? As far as your husband, he summoned weapons he was familiar with or that he remembered. Or found. If you _could_ mimic that _,_ well shit, it’d be handy. After all, like that hideous bug Sarakk said: what could you do to protect those you care about as you are now? Who wins, all of Hell or one shadowy spook?

But thoughts for later. There was a job to do.

“Anyway, that ain’t gonna’ slow us down, is it?” Hox continues, gesturing to your prosthetic. “Figured I’d ask about something useful, heh.”

“Worry about yourself, old man.”

Hox snickers before shutting the van off. In a few minutes, you’ll both exit and descend into a small tunnel system of sewers which should lead you right under the warehouse. Simple enough. In the meanwhile, your Angel is staking out (or should be) on a nearby building with some of Pentious’ Egg Boys. Hopefully that’s going well? As for the snake, well, you can only imagine what shit he’s got cooked up.

“How the hell’d you get smiles and sunshine to let you out, anyway?”

By that, Hox means Charlie.

“She’s. . . distracted.”

-*-

Angel leaned over the building side, flicking a cig away after he took one last, long puff. It fluttered helplessly to the distant ground below, where – so far as he could see – a small white vehicle was approaching from the street, hiding itself. Good.

That was his man and the pooch, right on time. Or something. He wasn’t paying attention to the specifics, he was just looking forward to the action. Really, the only thing better than doing lines of blow or hitting the scene was _violence._ The chaos was exhilarating no matter how many times you did it, and goddamn was Angel _really_ good at it. And, hey, it was just some stress relief, yeah? What better way to push aside intrusive thoughts then take some shots at a bunch of braindead palookas! No stress, no worry, no _memories_ to worry about.

Tip-top shape, at his best, that’s what he had to be. Anon _needed_ him. Once the shebang got ugly, his husband needed a way out and like _fuck_ he was gonna’ let anything happen to his man. Hox? Well, yeah, that too, he guessed. Hox was Anon’s pal and that was enough, but priority one was keeping genius outta’ trouble. The rest was just fun.

Well, almost. The cluster of eggs behind him took an inch off his metaphorical hardon.

He was surrounded by Penny’s goons, those wobbly, daft-in-the-yolk babbling loonies who looked like they could scarcely walk much less hold a tune to a weapon. They ran around in circles, a good dozen or so of them, waiting to fight. Their conversations mainly involved how _amazing_ Sir Pentious was, and smart, and. . . sexy? Real fascinating dialogue. They were supposed to be Angel’s backup, but really, if they couldn’t handle him and Cherri way back, what in Hell could they do now? Well, die, he guessed, a lot. Provide some cover, at least, and maybe make some good fuckin’ scramble too.

“Heeey Angel!” one of them babbled, coming to the spider and tugging at his skirt.

“Ey, don’t scratch the threads,” Angel said, nudging the Egg away with his kinky boot before straightening his suit. “What, yolk-brain?”

No. 75 held up a picture of. . . Sir Pentious. Sir Pentious holding up a victory sign trying to look cool. “Isn’t Boss the BEST?”

Angel studied the picture before snickering. “Ohah, yeah, ol’ shit-twizzler issa’ real ladykiller, ahah.”

For a moment, the Egg Boy looked crestfallen. “He _never_ kills me.”

Angel rolled his eyes. The Victorian overlord wasn’t here. Well, not _here,_ here, he was floating in the sky just out of vision’s reach behind some artificially created clouds in his fancy zeppelin. Because of _course_ he was, that cowardly dork. Why Hox got involved with that hissing loser he had no idea, but that was the break. Really, the worst part were the prattling Eggs who just wouldn’t _shut it._ Fuckin’ just blow the cobra already, would you?

“Ughhh,” Angel huffed, wiping back his hair tuft. “Dis is’ borin.”

He fished out his Hellphone and started scrolling through Twatter, checking his feed for something, anything interesting. Licking his lips, he made a quick post:

_LOL BORED_

Should he post more? He was tempted to. But, ugh, it might blow the whole plan if he started yammering about where he was. Even _he_ wasn’t that dense. Pfft. Plans. How stupid. He wanted to talk to someone more interesting capable of having a conversation outside how “incredible” Pentious was.

Well, his husband _did_ have a burner phone. . .

-*-

Holy fucking Christ the tunnel system was _foul._ Sewers they were indeed, crusted with piss and filth and gore, so much it could’ve been the arteries of some living beast. Hox was savvy enough to bring a couple of gasmasks with equipped headlights, and if you didn’t have them, you’re pretty sure the air alone would suffocate you both. At first, you thought the sewers might be wired with security measures too, but goddamn, who the hell would want to come down here? Who even maintained all this literal shit, anyway?

While you were keeping your boots free of falling in mounds of flesh and stink, you and Hox navigated the spiderweb of narrow tunnels leading to the underside of the warehouse. They lead in various directions, up to different manholes. The trick wasn’t getting out, it was getting out in the right place. That was the gamble. Pop heads in the wrong spot and this whole thing might get bad, quick. Might not even have a head to worry with anymore.

The dog appeared to know the direction, at least. 

Eventually, Hox makes a gesture towards a ladder appearing at the end of one of the sewer conduits. It’s covered in rust and your lights catch a dismal layer of sticky filth covering it. Great. At least you have gloves.

You manage a muffled “this it?”

Hox nods, gesturing up. “I’ll go first,” you hear him say. Alright, this is it.

He ascends the ladder, suppressed MP5 (or Hell’s equivalent) strapped to his back, while you follow close behind. When he reaches the cover, you note there’s a moment of hesitation before he carefully pushes against it. With tedious caution, he moves it to the side _just so,_ his eyes watching for any activity. As he does, trickles of bright light shine through the opening, along with the distant but unmistakable noise of voices and loud mechanical sounds. This was the place, unless you two stumbled into a factory.

Hox watches, ears flagged through his mask, flicking headlight off. He pushes the manhole aside before popping his head up an inch, looking around. You hold your breath. If somebody saw this, whole thing would go south quick and you’d be in a firefight. You stare, waiting, hoping. Finally, Hox shifts, exiting the tunnel, and you’re relieved, at least briefly. The moment Hox is out he takes a knee and covers the area, gesturing for you to follow. You make haste, climbing the slick bars before exiting the hole with him. At once, you’re engulfed by the echoing raucous of loud shouting voices, the moving of cargo, and the dull hum of various vehicles and machines. You shudder – a shadow can’t abide light for long.

You don’t have time to waste staring, as you and Hox return the manhole cover and find a corner to hide behind. As you take the warehouse in, there are numerous cargo boxes stacked atop each other – albeit in hasty fashion. It’s enough you and Hox have a spot to set up while you get sense of where you are. You pull off your gasmask once you’re “safe, checking your Colt SMG before switching the safety off. Alright, phase one done. Not bad, so far.

“Okay,” Hox breathes. “Gotta’ find the fucker now.”

You glance over the crates. You only take in so much given that you have one eye, but your first impression is that it’s a mess. It doesn’t look thought out, the warehouse. Definitely a place for a smash and grab operation. As for the demons?

They’re in the typical monstrous variety you’ve come to expect in Pentagram City. An angler fish head with three eyes, a skull surrounded by smoke, imps scuttling along, that sort of thing. The one thing distinguishing them, though, were colors. All were in clothes of red, white, and black, or that variety. Cherri’s colors. Messily painted smiles and x marks were stitched into makeshift body armor and, frankly, they looked like a rejected posse of clowns. Armed, dangerous clowns, but idiots nonetheless.

Unfortunately, possessed equipment _well_ outside their capabilities. “Holy fuck,” you say, spying a behemoth object, pointing. “Is that a fucking tank?”

Yeah, it was. The tank was a lumbering thing painted in Cherri’s hues with spikes and other vicious attachments welded to its exterior, and if they had stuff like that, Devil knew what else.

Hox gave a bitter laugh. “Hah, maybe I shoulda’ brought your boy with me instead.”

At least the thing wasn’t running, so far as you could tell. “You see anything?”

By anything, you mean an object resembling a body. Or, storing a body. You can’t imagine just leaving a corpse out – even demonic – is a wise idea, so you figure it’s in some kind of storage. Would’ve helped if Hox, you know, bothered to _verify_ that.

“Shit and junk,” Hox answered. “Not what we need though.”

Yeah, no, there’s not much you can see from here. Perhaps if you had a view of the warehouse interior? You scan around again, looking at the warehouse walls.

“Worse news,” you say, pointing again. “Cameras.”

Hox grumbled, leering at them. “Oh, fuck off.”

You glared at him. “Glad we’re _improvising.”_

He waves his hand. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Let’s just adjust, here. Cameras mean they’ve got, what, a security room, probably? And I’ll bet my ass we can turn off the auto-guns and fences in there, too.”

You think it over. Then, you peek around the crates. In the upper corner of the warehouse is a set of steps leading to a room, and if you had to guess, that’s where anything related to security would be. Even if not, it’d give you a better few of this place. Hox notices, following your eye.

“I think we’re on the same page,” he says.

“Might have guards in there.”

He chuckled. “They _will.”_

You both hush as a small group of goons wander close to the crates. There’s three. One of them is a bruiser, much larger than his two companions, the others two demonesses with long black hair.

“. . .deal is gonna’ make us big fucking time.”

“Better,” said one. “I’m tired of rollin’ dope dealers for pocket change.”

“You know it,” replied the biggest demon. “Yeah, this’ll make us goddamn kings and queens. Cherri’s gonna fucking _flip.”_

“This sounds too good to be true,” said the other. “Like, stupid good.”

Big one shrugs. “I thought so too, but apparently these guys are hardcore as shit. They come out from the _Exterminator Zone_. Ya’ ever been near there? I hear it’s insane.”

Wait. _The what!?_

“So?”

“So! Once they get this corpse we get a fucking huge payout and look good to Cherri! She’ll promote us, I bet! Give us more turf!”

“Ahahah, Cherri don’t do promotions.”

“She will when she sees this!”

They continue to chatter, but you throw Hox a concerned look. “Hox, we _have_ to speed this up!” you say through clenched teeth. He notes your concern.

“Why?” he whispers back.

You’re interrupted by the voices. “. . .and put your tits away for fuck sake! These guys’ll be here soon! Look professional!”

Ah _shit!_ Shit! Exterminator Zone!? Not what you wanted to hear, not at all. Memory comes tearing back into your head and you think of Junior. It hurts, but the implication is worse. The guards from the Zone were armed, organized, and overall had no mercy for anything they saw. What they wanted with the body you didn’t know, but didn’t care. Coming here was trouble. It was more numbers and an integer you didn’t prepare for. The plan was breaking apart. Fuck!

Calm down. Calm. _Down._ You can fix this. You can-

Your burner phone buzzes. It’s on silent, but you grab it immediately, a spike of panic running through your chest. Shit! That was Angel! He was the only one with your number! Was he okay? You answer it while Hox glares at you in disbelief.

“Baby?” you say in hushed tones.

Angel’s soothing voice crackles through. _“Hiiiii, pockets.”_

He sounds fine. Okay, good. You turn away from the goons, crouching. “Baby, what it is?”

_“M’bored. What’cha doin’, toots?”_

Is. . . is he serious? He’s making a social call? Right now!?

You keep your tone pleasant. “Honey, peppermint, this is. . . I’m working!”

“ _Sounds extra’ borin.”_

You can’t believe this. “Angel, there are guards _right_ behind me.”

He pauses. Then: _“Ya’ need me to come down there?! I fuckin’ will!”_

“No, no, no,” you say. “Just, call me back in a sec, okay?”

_“Awwww.”_

You rub your head. “I’m sorry! We’ll talk soon, okay? I promise.”

_“Fiiiine, okay. Loooove ya’ Anon.”_

You manage a smile. “I love you too, Angel.”

Click. Christ among the dead. You stuff the burner back in pocket, in disbelief. Hox is staring.

“You _done?”_ he chides.

“Shut up and let’s get moving _.”_

You wait for the gang members to leave before eyeing the control room again. Well, better not fuck this up.

-*-

Bluh.

Well, Anon didn’t want to talk! Or, he was busy, or something. Bah. Boring! Why couldn’t he chat? The instances Angel could chew the fat with a friend while he was fucking (or getting fucked) was, well, more times than he had fingers on hands! Stupid cute Anon, trying to be all quiet n’shit. How did Angel have to wait then? He was hankering to blast some fuckers, even if it meant he had to play nice with Penny. It was getting so bad he considered chucking one of the Egg Boys off the roof just to see what would happen!

_C’mon, keep ya’ shit together ya’ loony bitch._

_I am!_

He was! He wasn’t gonna’ go crazy. . . yet. He just wanted to _do_ something. He hated waiting around for a situation occur he had no control of. He wanted to either cause it, elevate it, or be a part of it. This? God it was like having a leash, except not as fun or kinky. Damn, why didn’t he take some booze with him? Or a molly? Hell he’d take a half smoked blunt with shitty mid at this rate. Anything to pass the time.

“Heeeey, look at that! That’s fancy!”

Huh? Angel glanced at one of the Egg Boys who hopped in little jumps. Said Egg was pointing at an object on the streets, and Angel leaned over to see. Whoa. He put a hand over his mismatched eyes. HE saw an enormous leviathan of a vehicle coming down the way, so large it nearly took up both parts of the road. It had six herculean wheels and a big _fuck-off_ mounted turret on its top, manned by a soldier. A soldier? It was hard to make out from all the way up here, but it looked like a uniformed spook was minding the gun. Holy shit, that was some serious firepower.

And then it slowed down. Then it _stopped._ Right in front of the warehouse. Angel’s heart sank. What the shit? What was that all about? He stared, frozen, observing as the back of the tank-like vehicle opened. About a dozen armed soldiers appeared, gathered in precise, organized movement. It was hard to tell, but they appeared to have visors and masks and their attires were black, accompanied by small, floating objects. Objects kind of like eyes? Or cameras?

“What da’ fuck is dat?” Angel murmured. Seriously, what? It looked familiar, really familiar. On the tip of his tongue even. Had he seen this before?

Big problem. The warehouse gates slid open as the vehicle moved its way inside. There were demons at the front, talking to one of the figures. Angel spent long enough talking to plugs to recognize this was some kind of deal, but this wasn’t for drugs. Even bigger problem: they were going inside the complex and that’s where his husband was.

“Ey!” Angel twirled, yelling at the Egg Boys. “Get off ya’ asses! We gotta’ go! _Now_!”

The wobbling squad stopped their conversing and ogled at him.

“Gee, it isn’t time to fight yet!” no. 41 protested.

“Boss didn’t say go,” no. 101 said, shaking its “head.”

Angel snarled. “Fuck double-dick! Don’t ya’ dippy twips see what’s goin on!?” He gestured down at the entourage of guards. One of the Egg Boys looked too.

“Wow!” no. 109 exclaimed. “That sure is a fancy car!”

“Ain’ta car dumbass!” said Angel, summoning a Thompson SMG. “It’s _trouble!”_

Shit, what now? He couldn’t afford to wait around for these gobbling idiots to get off their yolk and do something! Angel grimaced, ready to leap over and down from the building. But. . . he stopped. If he started causing antics now, he might make the situation worse. He did talk to Anon a few moments ago, but were he and Hox ready for the new guards?

_When is ya’ husband ever ready?_

Fuck. What could he do? The security was still on, so far as he could tell. There was an ugly mounted turret on the warehouse exterior. One, yes, but if it was loaded with seraphic rounds then Angel would live up to his namesake.

“If you fuckin’ die Anon,” Angel hissed to himself, “I’ll kill ya!”

-*-

The raucous of machines was enough to hide your quick footfalls as you and Hox neared the stairway. You had to be cautious, still, since it was exposed and cover was limited. Every other mad dash the two of you made you had to glance up, checking the camera’s line of sight. So far so good? Hah, no, none of it was good. Time was running out fast. The crowds of gang members, at least, weren’t looking your way, and in fact, seemed a bit distracted. Some of them were calling for each other, and you think you hear the distant roar of a huge beast. Or. . . vehicle?

“C’mon!” Hox says, tugging at you. You two find the end of the stairs and rush up them, or, as fast as you can manage maintaining reasonable stealth. Eventually, you both reach a door, the paint faded with demonic mold covering its sides. On it is a messily inscribed ‘SEKURITY.’ Guess this is it. You and Hox take opposite sides of the door, the dog taking position first to clear.

There’s a pause, a quick deep breath, and then. . .

Hox checks the handle to see if it’s locked. It’s not. With a grunt, he steps back before smashing it through with a hard kick, rushing in. You’re _right_ on his ass, rushing into the small interior. At once, a pair of demons scream at your approach. One of them is huge, and Hox quickly aims him down and squeezes off several rounds before he has a chance to grunt. His head splits apart and he stumbles while you come right after, focusing on the smaller gang member, who looks positively horrified.

You threaten him. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

He’s a scraggly thing, a little hunched, his wide, bulbous eyes swinging to you both. They’re black, saucer-like things, connected to a visage that’s arachnid-like and downright familiar and. . .

_. . .and holy fucking shit it’s him._

The spider crumbles as you move close, gun trained to his head. Your mind explodes in memory. A stormy night, the Hotel rooftop, the sad, weeping mass that was _this_ guy. Then his head, stuck and contained in a glass prison, exploited and used for the Better Half’s purposes, living in a fate worse than Hell. You’re stunned.

Hox doesn’t care, immediately going to the security monitors.

“It’s. . . it’s you. . .” you say, tone softening.

If this is him, he’s changed quite a bit. His body has regrown, though he’s in a slimy jumpsuit of faded red colors. He still looks frightened, and his mandibles click together, concerned.

“M-me?” he says. You realize maybe the barrel in his skull isn’t helping, so you lower it.

“The fuck are you doing?” Hox snarls.

You’re not too sure. “It’s. . . okay,” you say to your friend. “Right? No raising the alarms?”

Obs nods. “Y-yes. Right.”

“Okay then.”

He’s still a pitiful thing, but he’s out of that isolated hell. That’s something, right? “Do you remember me?” you say.

He looks away. “I do.”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you say, trying to ease him. “I think you’ve been through enough.”

It’s a strange feeling. Do you forgive him? You don’t know. He went after Angel in ways you didn’t think possible, and he almost got you killed. But he was also isolated, and then, forced to serve a purpose he probably wanted no part in. And now he was slumming around here. Looked like he was barely holding on, even.

“Find anything?” you say to Hox while the Doberman glances from screen to screen.

“I’m looking,” he shoots back.

Well, in the meantime. What do you even say here?

“How. . . are you holding up?”

Obs looks at you in a strange, new way. Like he’s trying to understand, and you don’t really blame him.

“I have this back,” he says, voice low, flexing his hands. “I’m alive.”

Time’s ticking. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you,” you say.

Obs squints. “I don’t want your _pity.”_

You laugh. Least he’s got some vinegar in his blood. “You sure? You look like shit!” you say, chuckling.

“What do you even want?” he snaps. “Just leave us alone.”

Wait, what now? “Us?”

Those wide eyes widen, if that was even possible. “I. . . meant . . f-fuck.”

You think. Us? Huh. He must mean that duplicate. Legna? They were together, still? Strange.

“I don’t care,” you say. “It’s none of my business. But, this might go better for you if you help us out?”

You gesture to the monitors. Obs glances at your hand and the dog. “. . .for what?”

“Shut off the security,” you say. “And tell us what we’re looking for. A body. Sound familiar?”

Obs hesitates, his hands coming together and fiddling about. What’s he thinking, you wonder? Planning to alert everyone? He’d go down here if he tried it, that was for sure. Or, was he contemplating on his situation?

“Do you really owe these fucks anything?” you say, referring to the gang. “This doesn’t seem like your kinda’ deal.”

Still, Obs pauses, unsure.

“Look, this whole place is gonna’ get fucked over soon enough. You want to be caught in the crossfire?”

“Stop pussyfooting,” challenge Hox now, coming to leer at the Obsessor. “You don’t talk and I’m gonna use a hammer in all sorts of artsy ways on your face.”

“Easy, easy,” you say to Hox. “He’ll help us.”

You almost consider mentioning Angel, but, you don’t know him this well, and considering the past, you don’t really trust him. Once more, you’re not using your husband like bait.

“C’mon,” you continue. “Help us and get out of here. Go home. Get somewhere safe. If not for yourself, then the person you care about.”

At this, the spider heaves with a pained sigh, conceding. “Fine.”

He trots to the monitors, looking over them. “A body is scheduled for shipment. They’ll be here soon. Hmm.”

He points at a faded monochrome screen. “In fact, they’re here already.”

Hox gawks. “What? Who!?”

You swear internally. Shit. Them. The soldiers from the Zone.

“Buyers,” answers Obs. “And the body is in this container unit. Steel chassis, frozen temperature environment, CC-7 as the ID. That’s your corpse.”

He looks at you both. “Hope you brought more than a couple of pea-shooters.”

Hox grimaces. “Shit and fuck.”

“And fuck and shit,” you say. “Turn the security off.”

For another moment, Obs pauses, perhaps thinking of a way he could run or even double-cross. But he shakes his head before coming to a module with various buttons and switches, wiping off sticky dribbles of blood from the dead goon. He flicks off a few, dials in a quick code sequence, and a timer appears on an old PC monitor next to him.

“I’ve set them to switch off in five minutes. If I do it now, they’d get suspicious.”

Hox stares at the timer with an air of suspicion but appears satisfied. “Fucking hell, guess we’re about to get this party started.”

In the meantime, Obs looks between you both, nervous. “C-can I go now?”

That’ll do. You look at him and nod. “Get as _far_ away from here as possible and don’t look back. It’s not worth it.”

He squints. “Why are you letting me go?”

“You’d rather I not?”

His cold voice waivers. “N-no. Just, after everything that happened. I don’t understand.”

You don’t want to think on it now. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

He dips his head. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“. . .is Angel happy?”

You flick your eye to him and stare. You’re not sure what to make of that. His tone is strangely genuine, even concerned. It lacks the tone of a predator or someone hunting another. He seems like he’s moved on, at least in his own way. Perhaps he and Legna, even in this miserable chaos, are managing a small life. Perhaps, in fact, he found his own Angel. You’d like to believe that, anyway.

“He is.”

Obs appears content. You think? Hard to tell with his long mandibles, but, his body movement is relaxed, at least.

“One more thing,” he says. “I _hate_ you.”

You laugh. “Haha. Fuck you too buddy. Now go, this is gonna’ be a warzone soon.”

Obs says nothing else and pads off. Before he moves past you, though, you snare his shoulder, looking in his eyes, face to face with the thing that haunted your home so long ago. "Hey, and. . ."

Your prosthetic squeezes, _hard._ "Don't come near him again."

You release him, letting him process your threat. He says nothing, rubbing where you grasped, before pushing beyond you and leaving. Yeah, he's on his way, but whatever he's doing, it's not going to involve Angel or the Hotel ever again. 

That's the last time, you think, you'll see him again. He found some kind of life out there, and now, it’s time to get back to yours.

The timer winds down, in the meantime, with a minute left to spare.

“Okay, now that you’re done slobbing that guy off, this shit got more complicated,” says Hox. “We gotta’ call it in.”

You try to push down the downpour of emotions emerging from encountering the Obsessor and everything associated with him. Now, instead, you focus. What Hox means is you need the distraction early. Penny’s looking like a real good “shoot me” target, and Angel? Well, like fuck you’re gonna’ put him in harm's way. But you _do_ need him because there’s no way you and Hox can shoot your way out of this by yourselves.

You have no argument. “Goddammit.”

Hox pulls out his burner, for Pentious. “I’m gettin’ Penny down here. Your boy’s gotta start throwin’ shots, alright, or we ain't getting far.”

Oh fuck that. “Eat shit,” you growl, angrier than you expected. “He’s not getting hurt because of this!”

Hox’s desperation is _very_ apparent in his eyes. “I don’t care! Just have em’ throw a grenade, anything to sow some chaos! We gotta’ move, now!”

Fuck. Alright.

While Hox turns to get Pentious, you yank out yours and dial for Angel He picks up immediately.

 _“Baby!?”_ he yells, tone concerned. _“Are ya’ okay!?”_

You force a chuckle. “Hey, told you I’d call you back.”

 _“Real funny, wise-ass,”_ he grumbles. _“What’s happenin!? Did ya’ see! Anon, dey’ got more mooks down there! You'ze surrounded!”_

“I know,” you say. “And we don’t have much time.”

You look out through the security room window. “Angel, I need you.”

-*-

_“I need you.”_

Angel’s body _swelled_ like an inferno, his desire to protect sent into fucking overdrive. He didn’t have to hear anything else. His man was in trouble. He’d _burn the city to the ground_ to keep his Anon safe.

“Just tell me, baby!” Angel shouted in his Hellphone. “M’here!”

 _“I just need a distraction,”_ Anon replied, tone calm. _“Make a little noise, that’s all!”_

Angel blinked. A little noise? Oh, he’d do more than that. “I’ll fuck em’ all up,” he said, wearing a manic grin. “Ya’ hear me?”

 _“No, no, no!”_ challenged Anon. “ _Don’t get yourself hurt! Pentious will come in soon and take the heat, all right?”_

Angel laughed in the phone. “So fuckin’ cute when ya’ stupid,” he said, voice shifting from concerned to _joyously violent._ “Did ya’ forget who I am? I’m ya’ spider. Angel _fucking_ Dust.”

_“Angel!”_

**_“I am the heat.”_ **

_“Don’t!”_

“Looove ya’ so much, Anon. Take cover, babe.”

Click.

Gold tooth glinting in the furious lights of Pentagram city, Angel summoned a pink rocket launcher with black hearts painted on the sides. He swung it over his shoulder, aiming down towards the front entrance of the warehouse. He licked his teeth, mismatched eyes practically _glowing._ The rush of chaos was surging through him, as sweet as a hot black drug rush.

“Uhh, what’cha doing?” said one of the Egg Boys, coming next to Angel. Angel glared down at the Boy, before kicking the goon right off the building side.

“Makin’ an omelet.”

He squeezed off the RPG and it screamed into the night air before colliding into the street, erupting in a fiery explosion of vicious pinks and purples.

He cackled and hollered with laughs before summoning another entourage of submachine guns, preparing to jump.

[Bang, bang, bitch.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OY9OYaMxog)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad to be slightly aroused by an emotionally troubled murder-spider set to polka-pop? Hmm.


	6. You Get Me Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's in an uproar as the warehouse job wraps up.
> 
> Valentino makes plans.

**You Get Me Closer**

A hellish, pink inferno blossomed into a fiery monolith at the street center, sending chunks of asphalt and limbs careening into the city air. Garbled voices laced with electronic distortion erupted in a series of commands and alerted shouts, finding cover where available. Lights flickered, panic overtook order, and chaos ensued. Just the way Angel liked it.

The warehouse complex screamed to life as alarms rang out from the building. Looks like the dicks were up, now Angel was gonna’ give em’ a show. He landed safely on the sidewalk, loading another shell of explosive _fuck-you_ in his launcher, aiming it towards the small crowd of armed goons. Before they even knew he was there, he fired off another shot, the screech of fabulous artillery smashing into a few soldiers and bursting in a yet-more fabulous pillar of death.

He licked his teeth, laughing. “Aahahaha, get fucked!”

His man needed a distraction? Well, _here the fuck he was._ There were shouts between soldiers as they spied where the shots were coming from, taking position and returning fire Angel’s way. Didn’t bother him though. Debris from the ensuing chaos was plentiful so Angel made a quick dash behind them, summoning weapons and sending a volley of SMG rounds right back at them. He didn’t know how long he had to keep this up, but, he’d do it for an eternity if it meant Anon and his friend were safe. Mostly Anon.

Cracks and bullets whisked passed him in sharp, threatening pops, so Angel Dust kept his head low. He coalesced a few explosives and lobbed them down yonder, not really caring where it hit. Speaking of hits, this was incredible!

This rush, this violent, black catharsis from fighting. Shit. He missed it. Was that a bad thing? No. No! Of course not! This was for a good cause, defending his guy, his husband! This wasn’t like, some random turf battle or him taking swings in a bar! Yeah, it was for a reason! A noble one! The thrill of violence was just icing on top, a perfect catalyst to distract himself, blow off a little steam, forget everything in the wildfire.

He kept the trigger squeezed until the Thompson hissed with smoke and the drum mag rattled. Okay, a little messy and not much finesse, but hey, whatever! Certainly kept those ghoulish freaks pinned down. Heck, he did it so well and for so long the entourage of Egg Boys finally showed up, wobbling and hooting as they charged into the crowd of trained gunmen and gang demons.

. . .and proceeded to get fucked up like breakfast in a brothel. Ooh, shit. Yolk-heads getting brained? Downright nostalgic this night was.

While the chaos continued, Angel kept a close eye on the large, military-like vehicle. It wasn’t moving, and the mounted-turret wasn’t manned. He’d keep it like that. He took position, preparing to take a run forward. The Egg Boys provided him a momentary distraction so he could get closer, right at the warehouse entrance front. When he did, Anon _should_ be ready to go and then double-dick would appear, doing his whole “Pentious” thing while everyone else made off like merry bandits. Simple.

Before he did, a strange eye-like device floated next to him, buzzing and whirring, flashing light on him.

“EY!” he yelled, summoning a bat. “No pics fer free, jackass!”

He swiped with his bat and smashed the thing, the ocular object whining before colliding into the ground. Annoying! Also. Huh. Angel gave it a once over. It kinda’ looked familiar. Had he seen that before? Yeah, he did. It was from that place, way back when he and Anon were on the train going to the _Exterminator Zone_ where _he_ wa-

He _shoved_ that thought aside and focused. Whatever. Wasn’t important. He sprinted forward, spider-legs granting him powerful momentum as he leaped forward. First goon he saw he took aim at, spinning the bat in arm with excessive flair before slamming it against the soldier’s head, cracking visor and skull alike. He shoved the frame aside while the soldier collapsed in a high-pitched scream of electronic static, reloading his SMG with free arms and squeezing off another volley into whoever he saw.

At this point, it was an unhealthy mix of these gurgling weirdos and the low-tier demons minding the warehouse. Many of them had rushed out to see who was attacking, and Angel was _so_ happy to give them a show.

He heard one of them who stopped and ogled. “W-whoa! Isn’t that. . . isn’t that Angel Dust!?”

“SHUT UP AND SHOOT!” said a different ganger.

“No way, I want an autograph!”

Angel saw the impish, grinning fool and gave him a wave. “Smile, bitch!” He summoned another explosive, signed his name on it, and tossed it over. The imp caught it, face manic with joy.

“Oh my god THANK YO-”

His body disappeared in a conflagration of pink and red, forcing others to take cover. This was going pretty well.

He placed his hand over his eyes, scanning around the fenced entrance. Atop the building, he noticed another turret, and his hazy impulsive-laden memory he recalled it was the one ol’ doggy was talking about, the thing with the fancy Exterminator rounds. It wasn’t shooting. So! It meant his man got in okay and turned off the buttons?

“Atta’ boy,” Angel said to himself before hiding behind yet more cover as gunshots came sailing his way. One managed to bite into his arm, a cascade of hot-pink blood rushing down his suit. “OW!” he swore.

“Fuckin’ asshole!”

He hissed, looking the injury over. Wasn’t terrible, but annoying and painful. Speaking of annoying and painful, part two of this little shebang should’ve been showing up soon. . .

The sky trembled with an erratic spasm of colorful electricity, rays of shining line breaking through the artificial clouds while accompanied by a powerful, static hum. Eyes shot upward, Angel included, to see the descent of a glorious war machine, a royal ovum enshrined in black demonic steel and gilded with shimmering gold. Twitching mounted cannons rested on its sides as the floating behemoth grew closer, while a loud, ecstatic laugh distorted the air with wailing cackles.

“ _BWAH HAH HAH HAH!”_

Angel rolled his eyes. Here we go.

There in his grand, mechanical magnificent was Sir Pentious, or rather his chariot of destruction, a flying oval-shaped vehicle sporting a lethal array of energy cannons. In magnificent display of technological prowess and villainy, the destructive zeppelin drew closer to the warehouse complex, causing yet another uproar of panic and fright amongst the gang members. As it did, a giant screen appeared at the belly of the machine, carried by a long golden arm. The screen flickered with static, then, gave way to the sneering visage of Sir Pentious, his prideful smirk gazing at the demons below.

 _“Foolish reprobates!”_ he hissed. _“No, your eyes dare not deceive you! It is, Sssir Pentious, glorious genius and overlord of the West Side here to exact ruination upon your miserable existences!”_

When he spoke, the surviving Egg Boys on the ground hooted and hollered in adulation! Running in circles as their master indulged himself with a grandiose speech.

Angel couldn’t believe it. Holy fuck, what a dork.

 _“And what hasss procured my perilous attention, you may ask!?”_ continued Sir Pen. _“What possibly could have gained the illustriousss gaze of one sssuch as I!?”_

One of the laser cannons aimed towards the side of he warehouse before unleashing a blitz of solid energy. It screamed through the air and vaporized a hole in the structure, melting through the metal with ease and causing more explosions.

Angel boggled. Hey! He shook his fists. “HEY YA’ DIPPY FUCKIN’ SHIT-TWIZZLER DON’T FUCKIN’ HIT MY HUBS!”

Doubtful the cobra could hear him, anyway. Asshole. Well, his attack currently sent the whole area into panic. Many of the demons were fleeing or trying to find somewhere to hide.

“Why ain’t the security workin!?” shouted one.

“Oh, god, oh GOD, I think Kenny was in there!” screamed another.

“SOMEBODY CALL CHER-”

Yeah, they were getting fucked over. Naturally, considering Sir Pentious’ prowess. Annoying twit he was, he was a name to recognize and tiers _well_ above this scraggly collection of palookas. Bonus, he was taking over the workload, at this point – assuming he didn’t hurt Anon in the process. The zeppelin descended until it was directly overhead the warehouse, before a section of the belly opened. When it did, more Egg Boys appeared, armed with tiny jetpacks and flamethrowers and guns and hammers, all descending upon the complex with their “war cries.”

Well, time to get moving then. Now Angel just needed to find Anon and Hox and this little quickie was all cleaned up. He thought of texting, but given the situation. . .

-*-

“This is it!?”

“This is it!”

The thunder was called, and soon came the whirlwind. Outside was sheer pandemonium, a colorful nightmare of delightful destruction. It wasn’t hard to figure out who was responsible for the first (and second) explosion, and the moment Pentious descending, everything went to Hell. The warehouse was on fire, a massive hole melted through it, gangers running outside, some armed, some just trying to get away, forgetting about their random collections of stolen inventory. This provided you and Hox more than enough time to finally locate the storage unit, which was centered in the complex, close to the entrance, likely prepped for delivery.

You and the Doberman demon had to haul ass to get to it, but when you found it, it was like a rush. Fuck yeah. Why? It was property, it was a goal, it was your target. Despite things getting fucked fast, you found what you needed. Hox looked like a world was taken off his shoulders, grinning like an idiot when he stared at the massive, coffin-like object.

Indeed, it was an unassuming rectangle of polished metal with coolant fed into its sides, maintained by a small generator and had a small interior window. Within, you figured, was the body. You took a peek to see for yourself, but it was too hard to tell. There was a blurry silhouette within, but that was all. Good enough.

“Hahahah!” Hox growled with laughs. “Motherfuckin’ paydirt baby, that’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about!”

He clapped you hard on the shoulder. “Fuckin’ did it you sonofabitch!”

You grinned too. “Yeah, yeah! Keep your dick soft, buddy! Still have to get this outta’ here!”

A violent rumble of explosions followed your statement. You looked towards the warehouse entrance, wondering if Angel was okay. Then again, he was your husband, he did just fine, yeah? Still, you didn’t want him in all that fuckshit longer than necessary. Additionally, uh, the van was on the _other_ side of the street.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” said Hox, wiping his head. “Improvisin’, remember!?”

You looked up to hear the descent of the massive zeppelin. Ah, Pentious, making his grand appearance of course.

“Alright, smartass, what now?” you say. You didn’t know how much time you, Angel, and Hox had before things got worse. Backup might show up or hell, even other sinners looking to rumble, and moving this massive encasing wasn’t possible with sheer grit alone. Hox wasn’t perturbed though.

He patted the storage unit. “Alright, alright, this is easy. Penny’s got the chops to haul this bad boy outta’ here. Now, you and your boy get the fuck out! Take the van and vamoose, and we hit back in an hour!”

You choke with a laugh. “You insane? You actually trust Pentious that much?”

“Nope!”

You roll your eye. “Great improvising, Hox.”

“If that double-dick moron tries something, then I’ll kill em’ before they kill me. Or, _you_ kill em’ for me.”

What a genius. Still, it’s hard to argue with getting the hell out and putting this job behind you. It was exactly what you’d hoped for: simple, quick, and about to be done. The best part? Nobody got hurt.

“SOMEONE HEEELP ME!” screamed a demon, his body consumed in pink fire.

Well, nobody _important._

In the meantime, Egg Boys started to appear through the hole created by Pentious’ egg ship, attacking whoever they could while looking for ways to secure stolen junk. You glanced to Hox.

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

He shook his head. “I ain’t sure of anything except what’s in front of me. Now you and legs get the fuck out, you’ve done plenty.”

You hesitate. You wanted to see this through, but there wasn’t much else to be done aside from making sure Pentious lived up to his end of the deal. Hox, too, was a professional and did a damn good job of looking after himself. You just hoped he wasn’t in over his head.

Well, what were you thinking, of course he was. With a conceded nod you dashed off, towards the warehouse entrance. There you just needed to find Angel and get the van. From there? Hope things worked out. It was already going okay so far, minus the ensuing chaos and death, but that was already Pentagram City anyway. So you ran, as fast as your legs would allow. Most of the remaining guards were preoccupied with not dying or getting into scuffs with Egg Boys. Nobody had time for the wraith moving around them.

When you reached the entrance, the outside was torn apart with pink fire and smoke. Gunshots rang about everywhere and it was hard to make sense of who was fighting what. Above you, you could see Pentious’ fearsome vehicle float in the air, droning with a dreadful sound while the overlord’s flamboyant cackles echoed in the air. For once, you were grateful for his theatrics. Now, all you needed to do was find Angel! And given how much of a shower your beloved spider was, it shouldn’t be too hard.

You keep yourself to low visibility, avoiding needless firefights, eye wide. Huh. Would it be out of the question to call him? Maybe. You considered reaching for your phone and-

Explosion.

You glance to the left. In the distance, there’s a pillar of smoke rising in the air, distinct. Distinct? Yes. Because unlike the fire and chaos caused by everything _else_ around you, this one is clearly defined by its color. It’s a trademark, and only the most ignorant of sinners wouldn’t know who that was.

Your heart sinks. Oh no. Oh fuck no.

_It’s Cherri Bomb._

Shit. SHIT. _SHIT._ How!? No, it didn’t matter, questions didn’t matter! She was here and you needed to _not_ be here! You had to find Angel, NOW!

-*-

At this point, Angel was beside himself with laughter. This wasn’t even a challenge! These dipshits were scrambling for their lives, not even putting up a fight! Lame! And as far as the soldier spooks went? They were gone too. Granted, there were maybe a dozen or so of them, but, guess getting sidelined by Hell’s biggest porn star wasn’t in their big fancy plans. Least it gave him a few targets, anyway. He was aiming with a summoned 1911, chewing tongue with teeth while he aimed. He didn’t _have_ to, of course, these guys were scuttling like mutts. But hey, he felt like being a psycho bitch tonight.

He practically pranced along, kicking aside corpses and debris as he neared the warehouse entrance. In his soul, his every _essence,_ he could _feel_ his man getting close. Something interesting he’d picked up on as of late. That melding of their souls, it was like a little band, feeding into the other. Knowing Anon was coming his way was both relieving and _exciting._ Aw fuck, they did it! Shit was so easy! What was Anon always getting so bent outta’ shape for anyway, on the subject of heists? Pfft.

Well, time to blow the candles on this orgy sesh. Pentious was doing his thing, so now they just needed to meet up and leave. So-

_Explosion._

Angel stopped. His grin faded. What? Was some other palooka’ really comin’ out here to stir shit up? Ugh. Didn’t these losers get the hint? He stuffed his 1911 away and prepped the ol’ Schnookums for again for another barrage of hellfire. He was about to turn this one into _sos._

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?”

Angel stopped. H-huh? That voice sounded familiar. He stared at the explosion, and then realized it was a scarlet, unmistakable hue. _Cherry red._ Wait, what? Was that. . . it couldn’t be!

Through the pillar of suffocating scarlet smog a silhouette emerged, a shapely figure of a young woman. Angel didn’t want to believe it at first, but, there was no mistaking it. Yeah. It was her?

“Cherri!?”

Angel Dust blinked, processing. Huh!? Why was she here? Was it. . . because of Pentious? But, why? The last time they got into a scuff he was trying to move onto her turf. Most of the time she didn’t give a fuck, she just hated when people stepped on her toys. Was she just looking for a brawl?

She came through the smoke, not noticing Angel. Instead, her expression was tugged with a furious scowl as she glared at hovering Penny-craft and the fiery warehouse.

“YOU REALLY CAME DOWN HERE TO FUCK WITH MY SHIT!?” she screamed, kicking aside a body on the ground.

Okay, wait, whoa, what? What. . . what did she mean by “her shit?”

“Ey, Cherri!” Angel whistled. Cheri jumped, swinging her gaze to the spider. She stared at him, gawking. Not. . . not in the way she usually did. Not how she was. She would be surprised, then grin, then always say “sup” or some shit and get all happy and they’d start palling around.

She didn’t. She didn’t look happy. She looked _furious._

“Angel!?”

The cyclopean demonette marched towards the spider. Was she still mad? Last time they had a “chat” it was back at his honeymoon and it wasn’t on the _best_ terms. But they were still pals, right? R-right?

“What the fuck is this?” she shouted, getting closer. “What are you doing!?”

Angel lowered his gun, frowning. He didn’t understand. “Uhh, hey to ya’ too, sugartits.”

She came forward, staring him down. “Don’t get cute.”

Again, her eye went to the warehouse, the Penny ship, and back to Angel. “Are you fucking _real_ with me right now!?”

Angel raised his hands, defensive. “Hey, hey, easy! What’s yer’ problem!?”

“My _problem!?”_ she shrieked. “My _problem,_ is you’re HELPING THAT SHIT TWIZZLER KNOCK OVER MY TURF! What’s _YOUR_ PROBLEM!?”

She shoved him. Angel was taken aback, from both the accusation and the gesture. “Hey! Don’t push me!”

“Fuck off!”

He narrowed his eyes while the words ran through his mind. Her. . . turf? The warehouse? This belonged to her? But, but, he didn’t know!

“Wait, wait, Cherri, hang on, les’ back up a sec! I-I didn’t know! I mean, I’m just, I’m just. . .”

He trailed, losing himself. He was robbing his friend! He had no idea! Anon and Hox didn’t say anything about that. Did. . . did Anon know? Why would he keep that from him? Suddenly, his violent high was _gone,_ and he was spiraling into different territory. Hurt territory. This was all getting bad so quick and so fast.

Cherri crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

There was a tiny explosion within the warehouse and she swore, growling. “Goddammit! Stupid tube-cock!”

“C’mon!” Angel protested. “Dis’ is all backwards! It was a mistake, honest!”

“Honest? You? _Fucking please.”_

Angel looked her over. “Da’ fuck is _dat_ s’posed to mean?”

“Oh get off your high dick, _Angie._ Ever since you got ‘hitched’ you’ve been a real prick. I don’t hear from you! You forgot all about me and now you’re hangin’ around that edgelord shitstick!? You’ve _changed._ Asshole.”

He growled, rubbing his eyes. “Goddammit, Cherri, not dis again! M’sorry, okay! It’s just, fuckin’, it’s new, all right! I’m married now! Things are different, ya’ know?”

She frowned. “No. I _don’t_ know. I just know what I see.”

The fright of misunderstanding was fast fading, instead replaced by a growing rage. “Okay, where da’ _fuck_ you get off judgin’ me, Cherri? I got a life now! M’tryin’ to build it with someone, I had a kid! And. . .”

Kid. No, no, no. Why’d he say that!? It came ripping back into him, the memory and loss of Junior, sweeping like a dread hurricane.

Cherri looked him over like he was a stranger. A violent, intrusive stranger. “ _You?_ Had a _kid?”_

She waved her arms around. “Hoooly shit. Yet another saga of life you haven’t told me, _best pal._ I don’t know how the fuck that mutant shit worked out. What, you get knocked up somehow? Holy fuck, what kind of abomination came outta’ you, anyway?”

Okay, _now_ she was crossing lines. Way too many lines. Her anger didn’t justify this at all.

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Angel warned through clenched teeth, bearing down on her. She almost flinched.

“Get out of my face, Angel.”

The anger was growing. “How ‘bout fuck you, is what.”

Her expression shifted from enraged to stunned. “You are _really_ unbelievable, you know that? You come here and break my shit and then say _this?_ And you don’t even tell me you had a fucking kid and act like _I’m the bad guy!?”_

“Ya’ don’t even care about me!” Angel challenged back. “Listen to yer’ shit! Since when was you all fuckin’ tits hard about ownin’ shit, huh!? You ain’t even happy fer me! Ya’ just a dumb, jealous bitch!”

“I’m jealous!? Are you insane!?”

Fury was taking Angel, more than he realized he had for this kind of thing. What was her goddamn issue!? This was stupid. It didn’t even matter. Her “turf?” Who cares!? She was revealing herself to him, right now. She _never_ cared!

“You ain’t my friend!”

Cherri stared at him, and this time, she flinched. Her eye got glossy.

“I WAS YOUR ONLY FRIEND.”

She laughed, holding her head, turning away, wiping her face. She raised a hand, laughing hard, a forced and pained sound. “No, no, you know what, this is fantastic. This is great. Haha. What should I have expected from a gold-digging whore like _you?”_

Angel snarled. “Ain’t nothin’ worse than a cunt actin’ all high n’mighty! Get over yerself!”

“No,” she said, voice harsh. “Get out of _my territory_ before I _make_ you get out.”

“Don’t fuckin’ threaten me!”

They were interrupted by a rupture of cackles. “Awww, hahaha, isss there trouble in paradissse?”

They both turned to see Sir Pentious looking at them in the road, surrounded by an entourage of Egg Boys and Egg Machines. He was wearing a rather proud, aloof smirk, no doubt amused at the scene given how his encounter with them went _last_ time they were together.

He was making it worse. “Fuck off double-dick!” Angel shouted. “Just piss off!”

“But Angel!” said Pentious, dawning an innocent expression. “I’m just here to make sure you get out ssafely! That wasss part of the deal, hmmm? Isn’t your precious _beau_ waiting for you?”

Cherri’s eye widened and she stared at Angel. “You FUCK! YOU’RE DOING THIS WITH HIM, TOO!?”

Meaning his husband. Angel didn’t know what to say. “I. . .”

“Now, now, strumpet,” said Pentious in mock tone to Cherri. “Don’t you go trying anything now, or I’ll vaporize you on the ssspot! Eahahahaha!”

Helpless, Cherri looked between the snake and spider, utterly helpless. Her cheeks reddened and she gave Angel one last, hate-filled luck. Tears started streaming down her face.

“C-Cherri, wait,” said Angel. No, he didn’t want this. He didn’t want his friend to be hurt.

“Just fucking leave, you piece of shit! You’re an asshole!”

Pentious watched, starting to laugh. “Oh. Oh my god is she _crying?_ Wahahaha!”

Cherri ignored this, shoving Angel hard, enough that he fell backward and grunted. “I fucking hate you!” she screamed, before twirling on Pentious and summoning a pair of explosives.

“And I _will kill you_ shit-twizzler! Fuckin’ be ready next time!”

She chucked them into the ground, summoning another cloud of scarlet smoke, forcing everyone to cough and sputter as she made a quick escape. Angel jumped to his feet, looking for her. No! Did she really just leave like that!? She just abandoned him!?

“Y-y’know what!” screamed Angel, to no one. “Fine! F-fuckin’ leave! I don’t care!”

Hot tears rushed to his eyes and he wiped them away. No, no, no, do _not_ start doing this. Top form. Best form. Nobody can see. Nobody!

“You ain’t my friend!” he repeated in defiance. “You suck and I hate you too! Fuckin’ tramp! Don’t come back! Stupid bitch!”

Idiot! Fuck! It didn’t matter anymore. So what if he knocked over Cherri’s stuff! She deserved it! She was a horrible person and every time she was around, he always got high or some shit! She didn’t even care about him or his time with Anon or the fact that Junior was gone and _goddammitwhydidshesaythatfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Pentious, oblivious to this, took his triumphant slither as Egg Boys started hauling off with the various belongings found in the warehouse. “Hiss, hiss loser!” he said, proudly.

He looked over to Angel, observing the spider’s in agitation. “Ssso it turnsss out you _can_ be useful, nehehehe. You were _sssuch_ a help, ahahaha! We should do thisss again sssometime, harlot!”

Angel wasn’t even looking at him as the snake slithered towards the warehouse, most likely to finish picking up the dog and whatever the hell they were after. Angel didn’t care. He just wanted to leave, leave and forget. He didn’t need Cherri anyway. Fuck her.

He pulled out a cig before lighting it, taking a long drag. Everything was becoming a mushy blur. The fire and chaos and bodies, it all felt so unimportant now. Shit. This was supposed to be a big distraction! Some place to forget! And now!?

“. . .Angel?”

A voice, masculine and warm and soft. Comforting. Angel Dust jumped and quickly wiped his face, sniffing, forcing a smile. He twirled to see a shadow appear from, well, the shadows, looking all sorts of concerned.

“H-hey baby!” said Angel, trying to maintain his enthuse. At once, Anon saw his arm where the river of pink blood ha dried and stained his suit.

“You’re hurt!” he said, rushing over and wearing a worried expression.

“What?” Angel protested. “N-no I ain’t, haha, m’fine!”

Didn’t stop Anon, who came to the spider and looked the wound over, careful not to touch it or cause Angel any further stress. “Damn,” he muttered.

“Ruined your suit.”

Angel managed a ragged chuckle. “Just da’ sleeve.”

Anon gave a small smile, looking behind him, where the pillars of smoke remained, where Cherri was. Angel noticed.

“Less’go!” the spider insisted. “Get outta’ this dump.”

Anon didn’t respond at once, his face sobering to something more defeated. “I should’ve told you,” he admitted.

Angel did his best to keep that smile, but it nearly fractured. He did know. And he didn’t say anything? About Cherri? He wanted to be mad, but, he was angry with Cherri. And, well, fuck! Turns out she wasn’t a friend anyway! Just a bitch!

“Let’s _go!”_ Angel insisted. “Who cares. She ain’t m’friend.”

He turned quickly, wiping his face and sniffing. A pause.

“We parked a van. We’ll get out that way.”

There was something about Anon’s tone Angel didn’t quite like. He could hear it, the implication. The “we should talk” undercurrent. He didn’t like it because he was _afraid_ of it. He wasn’t ready. Not yet. The night had gone so bad so fast!

“Betcha’ red-rocket gonna’ want to celebrate!” Angel said. “Us too! We’ze pulled it off like it was nothin’!”

He looked at Anon, pleading in his own silent way.

“Yeah. A drink couldn’t hurt, I guess.”

Angel clapped him on the shoulder. “Atta’ boy!”

Yeah. A little more. Some easy booze to forget this whole fiasco. Angel could handle that, dip in for a bit longer before going back to normal. A little more so he could push Cherri out of his thoughts, too. _A little more._

-*-

“A little more to the side.”

Shifting figure.

“Like this?”

Long, exasperated sigh where a pair of digits came to temples. “No, _to the side.”_

More shifts, more hip dances. Fingers snaps.

“The beat. _The beat._ Listen to it. Sync your movements with the sound. Pay attention to the bass.”

More motions, and at this point he’d had enough. “Enough, enough. Cut.”

Valentino pulled off his gold-rimmed, heart-shaped glasses, rubbing his eyes, stopping a snarl from leaving his lips. This new filly was so braindead, Devil Below. Harlot had no rhythm and could scarcely think outside her thick skull. If she didn’t have a Rockstar body he would’ve thrown her on the streets to turn tricks months ago, but, good picks needed to be preserved for a while before you set them out like mules.

The studio buzzed as one of Valentino’s “body directors” rushed to the succubus, going over a series of notes. The setting lights flickered to full brightness before Valentino pushed himself up from his chair, leaving with an aggravated stride. Good help was _impossible_ to find. So hard, in fact, he was filled to the brim with bile and decided to call it an afternoon. He’d, what, been in the studio for an hour trying to get that damn she-devil to work her legs to the beat of music? He’d be better off smashing his head against the wall. Useless meat.

It was. . . so much easier with _him._ He always got it down, perfectly. Like he was made for, bred for it. It was those legs, those perfect long legs. The motions, the glorious motions. Oh, he was the best, a star, groomed for the entertainment industry.

And now. . .

Valentino took the elevator to his private suite on the top floor of the studio, the circular rimmed window overlooking the vast expanse of Pentagram City. The interior was lit with neon lights, fit with a bar, a table for the finest drugs and blow, walls lined with security systems, screens, everything he needed to close himself off for as long as desired. A miniature fortress akin to the gates of Lucifer himself.

The walls were lined with portraits of some of his best work, though _one, in particular,_ adorned them in fairly obsessed fashion. Four beautiful arms with long, luscious legs and set of fluff that put any rack to shame.

Oh, Angel Dust. Where were you, baby? Why were out there, by yourself? It wasn’t safe. You belonged _here._

**_You belong to me._ **

Valentino sat on his comfortable demon-leather couch, spare arms resting on the edges. Of course, he wasn’t a fool. _He knew._ That sweet, lovable, horrible, traitorous tramp couldn’t help but throw himself back in the social media spotlight. Twatter was abuzz when he made posts, and it wasn’t a strange thing to see Angel’s posts trend.

It filled him with such rage, to know that his favorite diamond was out there, not _here._ Not on a leash, not where he belonged, safe and controlled in his studio. But it got worse.

_He was with someone._

Oh, that was nothing new, back in the day. Angel would find himself a little sugar daddy now and again, get his quick fixes in, bleed the stud dry for a few weeks. But then he’d always come back, safe and possessed in Valentino’s arms, back in the toybox. But this? THIS!? _MARRIED!?_

He couldn’t abide by this. The only reason the spider was allowed to go along with this charlatan act was because of the Princess. Oh, it was hardly a headache to deal with her on his own. He had resources going as far as the slummiest parts of Pentagram City. She was, at best, a headache. But a headache he didn’t have time for – especially with the complications of her lineage. He wasn’t in the mood for earfuls from ol’ Lucy and Lil when he had his studio to run, and Vox was always a stickler for time. Besides, he figured Angel would get over this _thing_ and come straight back to him, like he always did.

But _he didn’t._

He mocked him. He mocked him with this person, this shadow, appearing in some of his photos. Angel looked unbelievably happy, and it infuriated the overlord. How could Angel _possibly_ be this happy with _anyone_ else? Did he forget what Val had done for him!? Did he forget who Val was!? All Valentino was _give_ and Angel did nothing but take and that ungrateful whore absconded with some nobody.

Oh, Angel. Anthony.

Something moved. Valentino let off a long, dangerous groan. He wasn’t in the mood for company.

“You’re supposed to be working.”

At his side appeared a figure. She was feminine, in the way a reject from a shitty punk band was feminine.

“Ain’t I always?” she challenged. “Figured I’d stop by, drink some tea, catch up on the drama.”

Valentino didn’t look her way. “You should leave, before I turn you into inside and out.”

“Woof,” she said, strolling into view. “Touchy today, big Vee. Don’t you know I got some news for ya’?”

“You’ve decided to throw yourself off a building?”

He had _no_ patience for this one. Annie, she went by. The one thread keeping her alive was her proximity to Angel Dust, and her time at the Hotel. And, as he’d come to find, her direct relationship with the _other_ one.

She waved a hand. “Naw.”

Her hand pulled out a Hellphone, thumbing through it before showing it to Val. It was a blog post about some random violence on the ass end of the West Side. He waited for her to make this interesting.

“Seems like some random typical bullshit, yeah? Pentious making trouble. But, get this.”

Valentino leaned his cheek into chin.

“Penny wasn’t alone. Stuff was gettin’ fucked up with some help.”

Valentino hissed. “If the next thing you say isn’t interesting to me, I’m finding someone else, and you’ll wish you were dead.”

Annie just laughed. “It’s Angel, ya’ tall twit.”

Valentino blinked. “. . .continue.”

“Yeah, apparently he helped knock this fucker over. Dunno why, dunno’ what for, but few hours ago whole place got turned inside and out. Dollar says ol’ fuckboy was there too.”

Valentino grimaced. So, Angel was fucking around again? With that _spook?_ Made his guts twist. What the hell did he see in that shadow?

“But, gets better. See, this was on Cherri’s turf, so I hear. And I also hear Angel and her was always on good terms. So, what gives?”

Again, the overlord waited.

“Well, knowin’ that princess ain’t all together in the head makes me think he and the slut had a row or two. Maybe ain’t on the best terms. And I’m thinkin’, Big Vee, I can use that.”

Useful? Valentino had to admit, he was curious now. “For _what_?”

“For trappin’ the spider, duh.”

He studied her. “Trap how?”

“Still figurin’ that one out. But, makes for some pretty good bait, yeah? What happens when the tart’s lookin’ to say sorry? Pulls Angel right outta’ his web, don’t it?”

Valentino didn’t like this line of thinking. “I’m not interested in breaking my property.”

Annie looked al sorts of proud. “Naw! See, that’s the beauty of it! All this bullshit, wouldn’t that drive Angel right back to ya’? Where things are all safe n’ shit? Losin’ a best friend can’t be easy.”

She paced, waving a hand. “I’m just sayin’, I can get him back with ya’, give ya’ the opportunity to talk again, cause Devil knows he ain’t lookin’ your way no more.”

Valentino almost felt like standing and smacking the bitch into the ground, hard. But, damn it all, she was right. If Val could just talk to Angel again, he’d make this right. Pick at those emotions, twist those thoughts. Manipulate.

For a moment, Valentino burst with a new emotion: _excitement._ Could he really get Angel back?

He looked outside the window, pinkish lights reflecting off his shades. “What do you need to make this happen?”

Annie shrugged. “Just gimme’ some time.”

Time? Oh, that Valentino had in vast quantities. He could wait if it meant luring Angel Dust back where he belonged, back in the studio, back home. He gestured silently for Annie to leave, who got the hint. When Valentino was alone, he grinned, his gold tooth flaring and a dribble of saliva trickling down his mouth. He took out his phone, dialing Vox.

“Vox, baby. I _know_ I’m interrupting.”

_“You sure as hell are! In the middle of something!”_

Valentino chuckled, standing to look out the window, into the city.

“I’ve got something vastly more interesting for you. What if I told you. . .”

He couldn’t contain himself.

[ _“Angel Dust will make a comeback.”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZT05Md0Fxg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *scumbag noises intensify*
> 
> I already feel greasy having written big Val.


	7. See You Soon, Sweetheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaggie discusses things with Charlie while you and Angel finally talk.

**See You Soon, Sweetheart**

A long, deep, if not strained breath.

Okay, Vaggie. Here we go. You can do this. You’ve been thinking it over, what you’ll say, how you’ll explain your girl has gone absolutely crazy and this time she’s _really_ done it. And then Charlie will get all bubbly and wave a hand and be cute like it’s nothing and then you’ll _insist_ – this time – she can’t keep doing that. Because she can’t! This really is too much! It’s insanity!

She stared at the fancy, ornate door emblazoned with the _Luciferean Sigil,_ or rather, the “updated” version with the eye and black key. Looked so ominous, so foreboding, as if telling her to go away, but she couldn’t, not this time. Vaggie always supported her girl, but for once, she needed to see reason! How could she _possibly_ justify keeping _those two_ around? Well, it was time to straighten it all out.

Hah. Straighten.

Vaggie cleared her throat and gently rapped the door. “Charlie?”

A few moments later she heard the melodious tone of her girl. _“Oh, Vaggie? Come in!”_

Vaggie brushed aside her silver hair and pushed through, closing the door behind her. Around her was the furnishings of Charlie’s estate, and unlike much of the Hotel, her office was quite well kept together. Pristine wallpaper accented by actual tasteful furniture, portraits of her family, a whiteboard of scribbled ideas, and notes. Lots of notes. The desk wasn’t as kept together, scattered and messy with piles of papers, complimented only by the lovely girl sitting there. Charlie was penning something down, offering a quick glance at Vaggie, smiling. Same smile that could enchant even an Exterminator’s heart.

“Hi hon,” Vaggie offered, rubbing her arm. “Busy?”

Charlie licked the pentip, finished writing, and beamed. “Oh, _always_. But for you? I’ve got a minute.”

Vaggie chuckled. “Wow, one whole minute?”

Charlie twiddled the pen between her hands. “Ooooh, hmm, I could _maybe_ bump you up to two.”

“I’ll take it.”

Vaggie strode closer, eyeing the notes and ideas. Lots of them. Never stopped, her girl. Charlie, in the meantime, sighed, stretched, pushing back in her seat. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, I just missed you!” Vaggie said, sidestepping her intent at first, and technically it was true. Charlie giggled.

“Heh, well, I can _always_ use a secretary!”

“Too busy putting out the other fires, babe,” Vaggie said with a smile, walking to the window and peering out at the horizon of Pentagram City.

“Well there aren’t _that_ many these days, are there?” Charlie offered. “Things are going pretty well, even!”

Here, Vaggie sighed, her arms slumping and eye going downcast. Charlie caught it. “Uh oh. I know that look.”

“Charlie. . .”

“Is this about my idea for Wacky Tie Tuesday? I know you don’t like suits.”

Vaggie rubbed her temple. “No, hon. _No._ This is important.”

Charlie’s demeanor shifted. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

It took everything for Vaggie not to scream “ _everything.”_ That wasn’t true, but it _felt_ like everything. Instead, she looked at her girl, and resolved to do anything to make her understand. She had to.

“They have to go.”

Charlie blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Charlie. _Charlotte._ Please, baby, listen to me. Really listen.”

Vaggie went to the desk now, hands folded together. Charlie’s expression went wide with surprise, unclear.

“You know, Charlie, that I love you, and I’ll be with you no matter what, with whatever you do. But for once, please, you _have_ to stop this. Those two. That thing, and that. . . other thing? They’re dangerous! They’re insane! They’re violent, genocidal lunatics!”

Charlie blinked again before understanding, her face hardening while she set her pen down with a sigh. “Sarin and Sarakk.”

“What?”

“Their names, Veebee. Sarin and Sarakk.”

Vaggie groaned, rolling her eye. “Charlie, don’t do that. This is serious! You can’t possibly think that keeping that crazy fucking bug at the Hotel is a good idea! Don’t you remember what happened!? And, that other one. . .”

_“Sarin.”_

“Stop that! Who care what the names are!” Vaggie said, raising an arm. “She almost _killed_ Anon and Angel. Twice! Not to mention the other things she’s done!”

Charlie didn’t look moved.

“Come on. Charlie. _Please._ What happens when they decide they don’t care and want to hurt us? What happens if they try to hurt me!?”

She leaned close. “Hurt _you.”_

A long pause. Charlie stared a while, thinking, musing, before running a hand through her golden locks. “You don’t trust me, is what you’re saying.”

Vaggie blinked. “What? I didn’t say that!”

Charlie nodded. “But you have, Vaggie. You don’t trust my judgment. You think I don’t know, like I’m ignoring it.”

Vaggie grunted, frustrated. “Well, aren’t you? I mean, Charlie, half the time our guests are running off and getting into trouble! Didn’t you notice when that dog showed up?”

Charlie rubbed her temple. “Yes, Vaggie, I did.”

“So, you _know_ Angel and Anon we’re off, _again._ Getting into trouble, _again.”_

Charlie didn’t say anything at first, instead standing. She strode past Vaggie, going to the window, looking out through it, staring at the city, eyes panning over its horizon and then back to her whiteboard of ‘redemption’ ideas.

“You said you supported me,” she said, tone low. Vaggie crossed her arms.

“I do, babe. But don’t make _me_ the bad guy. I just want to protect you! Charlie, please! There are some awful, _terrible_ people in Hell. Not all of them want to be saved! And the longer those two stay here the longer we risk getting hurt!”

Charlie sniffed, giving a weak laugh. “Heh, you know, I’m. . . used to being doubted, Vaggie. Dad definitely never believed in what I wanted to do. Mom doesn’t talk much to me about it. Alastor thinks it a joke, Husk doesn’t care. Most of Hell, aha, well you know.”

Again, she sniffed, wiping her cheek. “And my first patient constantly falls apart and relapses, over and over and over. But. . . so what. . .”

She looked at Vaggie, who saw the timid stream of tears running down Charlie’s snowy cheeks. “I always knew it would be _hard,_ Vaggie. It’s _never_ going to be easy. Ever. Angel will relapse. He’ll keep falling down, so many times, but so what! I can’t turn my back on him! Why, because it’s _too hard?_ That it’s inconvenient?”

Her brow narrowed. “That _isn’t_ helping Vaggie, that’s quitting. I don’t get to throw up my arms and say, ‘oh, gosh, that Angel can’t be good all the time, better give up!’ Or, ‘oh, I can’t redeem these two, they’re crazy’! That, to _me,_ Vaggie, is crazy!”

Vaggie watched her girl flush in the cheeks, and it hurt to see. “Charlie. . .”

Charlie raised a hand. “No. What? Sarin and Sarakk are dangerous? That I’m so silly and dumb I’d let them hurt the people I care about? My family? You think I would, Vaggie? I. . . I’m used to being doubted by everyone, but, not you.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

Charlie looked away. “You trust me that little?”

Vaggie stamped her foot. “That isn’t fair. I’m not saying this because I’m a ‘little’ upset, I’m afraid for everyone’s safety!”

“They will not hurt _anyone.”_

Vaggie scowled. “How can you know that?”

This time, Charlie flicked her eyes to Vaggie and they shivered with scarlet. “Because I’m **Lucifer’s fucking daughter.”**

It quieted Vaggie, who took a step back.

“I have to believe,” Charlie continued, voice quieting, “That the worst of them can be saved, even if they don’t think it’s true. They helped us Vaggie, they tried in their own strange way. If I can make them _better,_ if I can help them. . . I can help anyone.”

Charlie wiped her face. “But I can’t do it alone.”

Vaggie swore a million curses in her mind. Dammit. How did Charlie always do this? She was, in a warped way, right. Not entirely, not at all, not to her, but still. She did believe in her girl, and if there was one person in this wretched afterlife that could make Hell a better place, it was “Lucifer’s fucking daughter.”

“I’m just scared,” Vaggie conceded. “About them and the kind of people that come here. We’ve gotten _really_ lucky. We’ve gotten lucky Alastor hasn’t fucked us, or that – ugh – _Sarakk_ decided not to rip us to shreds, or that the first guest after Angel turned out to be a lovestruck idiot.”

She looked at Charlie, eye pleading. “I don’t want anyone to hurt _you_.”

Charlie saw the pain of her number one, her best friend and companion, and came forward with an embracing. She hugged Vaggie, wrapping arms around her, pulling lithe frame into hers, brushing aside that beautiful silver hair to see that equally beautiful face.

“If you’re with me, _nobody_ can,” said Charlie, smiling. “You’re amazing, Vaggie. I’m sorry to worry you. . . this must all seem so silly and crazy and fucked up.”

Charlie glanced to the side. “But please believe me. People fall, Vaggie. They fall so much and so often, and nobody reaches out to catch them, so they keep tumbling backward. And then they get up, climb the steps, and fall again. People forget that and just give up, not realizing, you have to help them _every step of the way.”_

Vaggie sighed, nodding, comforted by her lover’s embrace. “Oh, hon.”

A kiss to her cheek. “Vaggie?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re the one getting me up my steps.”

Hard not to feel the explosion of warm blossoming in Vaggie’s chest after that one.

“This still isn’t a good idea,” Vaggie murmured.

Charlie gave a weak giggle. “When have you _ever_ thought it was a good idea?”

“The pentagram choker was pretty cute. . .”

Charlie’s rosy cheeks flushed a shade darker.

“But still, _Charlie.”_

“Hey,” comforted Charlie, rubbing at Vaggie’s sides. “Don’t forget. I kicked his ass last time.”

Vaggie conceded, rolling her eye. “Yeah, I _guess_ you did.”

Charlie breathed a relieved sigh, holding Vaggie’s hands in hers, sniffing again. “Aha, hah. I could go for a drink.”

It dawned on Vaggie, in the moment, just how overworked her girl really was. All the planning and consoling and maintaining of a “positive attitude.” Never giving up on sinners no matter how wretched. Withstanding criticism and jeers from Hell itself, never mind her own residents. Must’ve been exhaust. No, it _was._ When was the last time Charlie got to relax or the two do something on their own terms?

Gah, she missed Charlie in so many ways, before the Hotel, all the bubbly brightness. Her girl deserved relief.

Vaggie flushed. “What about something else?”

Charlie looked to her love. “Hmm?”

She felt Vaggie’s hands slide to her hips while she pressed a kiss to her soft, black lips. Then, fingers unfastened Charlie at the waist.

“W-whoa, Vaggie?”

Vaggie smirked. “Hey, you said I could be your secretary. Isn’t this part of the job?”

Charlie thought about protesting but, nnf, no. No, nevermind, not when Vaggie kissed her again on the neck and breathed and slid doooooown. Not when she pulled Charlie out of her black panties and those lips went. . . right. . . _there!_

Charlie decided to clear the rest of her day.

-*-

[The way back felt long. Arduous. Strained.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEhrfBjb82g)

Lights rolled over the van as you drove down the Pentagram City streets, careful to watch your tail for potential gangers, though it was clear you weren’t followed. You, however, couldn’t help but glance at Angel every so often. He. . . didn’t look good. He leaned to the side in his seat, eyes watching the passing buildings with troubled disinterest, pretty face tugged with a frown. You wanted to say something, didn’t know where to begin, really. Granted, you didn’t exactly need words. You could _feel_ him, and the pain was palpable.

Fuck.

An hour later, as planned, you and Angel met up with Hox outside a passable dive and he was none the happier. Idiot dog with his big idiot grin, celebrating victory. Pentious wasn’t there, too busy taking whatever was at the warehouse for himself. Guess that was the best outcome – not having the snake try a double cross.

In the bar, Hox was already getting scuzzed.

“I’m retired, baby!” he bellowed in howls.

Angel was keen on wetting his lips too. “Cheers, pooch!”

You, for the moment, also put your concerns aside, at least for Hox’s sake.

The three of you sat at a roundtable and traded shots, Angel bearing a grin and wiping his mouth while Hox was properly loosened.

“So, what now?” you say, downing another shot. “Get the goods delivered?”

Hox nodded, motions sloppy. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m all squared! Shit’s perfect! No strings! I’m a free fuckin’ dog, hah! Fuck you, death!”

A small part of you didn’t entirely believe that. When was it _ever_ that simple? But, knowing your friend got out clean (as clean as one could get) put your mind at ease. At least a little bit. And, hey, you and Angel made it out okay, right? No horrifying monstrosities threatening to set ablaze to all you hold dear! Except. . .

Even when Angel held his smile after a drink, you could see how fragile things were. This wasn’t good. You had to talk. You _had_ to.

After the miniature celebration, the three of you waltzed out of the bar. Angel stretched, looking ready to embrace the city. “S’what, we gonna’ keep this fuckin’ party going?”

You’d do anything to make Angel happy and see him smile but, this, _burying_ everything, that wasn’t good.

“Let’s get home,” you say, insisting. “I think we better keep our heads down, kill the heat?”

Angel protested. “But that’s borin’!”

You look at him, a sobering gaze. When he sees it, a part of him flinches. Another part of him is angry.

“I’ve got nothing but time,” says Hox, waving hand.

“Naw,” Angel says, staring at you, frowning. “Anon’s right. Let’s _go.”_

Hox, oblivious, chuckles. “Fair enough! See you lovebirds back at the safehouse.”

You and Angel return to the van, and the drive back is once again silent. Once back at the Hotel, he gets out quickly, just about slams the door, and starts sauntering towards the door.

“M’tired,” he says from the side of his mouth. “So I’m gonna’ turn in early, kay Anon?”

You decide you’ll have to get Hox to remove the van on his own as you go after Angel. “Angel, we. . . we need to talk before you do.”

He gives a hard, humorless laugh. “Haha, what? No we don’t.”

“Angel. . .”

He continues towards the door, not looking at you, waving a hand. “Piss off, would ya’! I’m tired and ya’ killed m’buzz.”

**_“Anthony.”_ **

Angel halted. You might as well have pulled off his makeup. He freezes, holding himself, glaring back at you.

“Fine,” he growls. “Let’s fuckin’ _talk.”_

You see a lot in his eyes when he looks back at you. Plenty of fury, to be sure. But also. . . fear. And you’re afraid too – not of your husband, but what’s been buried. You’re lying to yourself to act like you haven’t tried to shove it all down and ignore it, and to bring out in the open is painful. Are you ready for it? You don’t know.

Angel kicks through the entrance and you follow, taking a breath. For a second, you don’t wanna’ go through that door. It’s so foreboding. But this has to be done.

You follow him and the door closes, where Angel stomps through the foyer and into the living quarters. No one’s up, or at least, not down here given the late hour. Not like it’d matter. When you’re both in the room, he turns, arms crossed, granting a scathing look. It’s harrowing, to see your husband look at you this way.

Where do you even begin?

“The hell is yer problem?” Angel spits. “Was havin’ a good time til’ you’ze mucked it all up.”

You grunt. “Excuse me?”

“No. Da’fuck is yer’ deal? Why ya’ actin so stuffy!?”

You’re about to reply, but he continues.

“N’fact. . . why’d ya’ fuckin’ lie to me!?”

Shit. You wanted to get to that, but you also wanted to address all the other things first. Like Junior. Your mind reels and you try to think it over. You know what he means. You know he’s talking about the warehouse and how it belonged to Cherri, no matter how small.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you start. “It wasn’t supposed to go that way.”

“Dat’s stupid,” Angel rejects. “Da’ fuck does that even mean!? You. . . I. . .”

One of his hands goes to his head, trembling. “You weren’t supposed to be there,” you continue. “Dammit, Angel, it was just a quick job, nothing else. A favor! I didn’t want you getting involved!”

That doesn’t settle him. “Oh, great!” he says, throwing all four arms out wide. “Good t’know ya’ woulda’ done that shit behind my back!”

“I would’ve told you!”

“Ya’ woulda’ told me it was Cherri’s junkhouse!?”

You hesitate.

“S’what I thought!”

He sniffs. “Ya’ ain’t s’posed to do that! Ya’ ain’t s’posed to lie to me, asshole!”

You growl. “It’s complicated! You act like it was personal. It _wasn’t._ Hox is a friend and he needed my help and if was Cherri in trouble you would’ve done the same!”

Angel hisses and you see his eyes glint. “Fuckin’ _bastardo,_ it ain’t even ‘bout that! Ya’ shoulda’ said somethin’ the _moment_ ya’ knew it was her! Ya’ should’ve! But what, ya’ kept it yerself’ cause ya’ thought I wouldn’t notice!?”

He wears a pained smirk now, shrugging. “Oh, what, I get it huh? Cause’ I used t’suck dick m’stupid, right? Ya’ just do it under m’nose and I wouldn’t know?”

You grimace, getting annoyed. “I didn’t say or do that, stop putting words in my mouth, goddammit.”

He’s about to respond but you pressed on. “Yes, for fuck’s sake Angel, I kept it to myself. I didn’t actually think this shitty warehouse was a big deal! I didn’t tell you because I wanted to protect you, because _you. . .”_

You trail off, finding your tone accusatory. Angel picks right up on it, and his features darken. “ _What?”_

You’re not even sure you should, but Angel’s temper increases. “What!? Go on, fuckin’ spit it out! What other bullshit ya’ been keepin’ from me?”

Bullshit!?

“Because you won’t talk to me!” you _yell,_ with a rising anger and frustration you have not experienced before, not with Angel. It even takes him off guard.

“Because, fuck, Angel! You keep ignoring it! You’re ignoring me! You won’t talk to me about what happened to our FUCKING SON!”

There’s this unusual wellspring of pain forming in your chest. Unusual, because it’s not entirely yours.

“Goddammit, baby,” you say, tone fracturing. “Stop running from it, please!”

Angel’s features shift.

He breaks.

His eyes go wide, and his anger fades and his mismatched eyes get glossy. He takes a step back. “Don’t yell at me,” he weakens, voice notably more fragile.

Oh. Oh no. What did you do?

“Angel.”

“Stop it,” he continues. “Ya’ lied to me.”

You falter too. “I’m _sorry,_ Angel. I am. I didn’t want this. But we have to talk about Junior.”

“Shuttup!” he screams back. “Shut up!”

What the hell do you do? You’re looking at him and you _see_ him breaking. The fury is vaporizing and instead replaced by a deep, unbelievable pain. You can feel it and how overwhelmingly harsh it is. It’s suffocating.

“ _Anthony, please.”_

“Whath’afuck do ya’ want from me!?” Angel bellows. “WHAT!?”

Tears stream down his cheeks, hot rivers, smearing his makeup, forming thin blotches of black. “F-fuck you! I don’t! I d-don’t want this! H-he’s fuckin’ gone, is that what y-ya’ want me to say!? M-my baby, my fuckin’ baby!”

He stars to buckle and clutches himself. “My b-boy! I f-fuckin’ killed my boy! I c-c-couldn’t save em’, or protect em’!”

Oh, my god. Oh _my god,_ you’ve never seen him this hurt. You almost panic it’s so bad, and all you can do is go to him and embrace him, hold him.

“G-get th’fuck off me!” he screams, though, doesn’t really push you off, rather falls into you. “F-fuckin’ piece o’ shit!”

His entire frame trembles and his words are intermixed with a strained wailing, harsh, pained sobs escaping him.

“It hurts!” he screams. “Oh f-fuck it hurts so much! I can’t do this! E-every day, I w-wanna forget! But I feel like shit fer tryin’ t’forget, but I can’t h-hold on t’him cause it hurts! It hurts, Anon, t’remember him! I just want him in m’arms again! I just want to tell em’ how much I love em’! And I can’t! I can’t you fuck! Is that what ya’ wanted me to say!?”

You just keep him close. “Shhh, baby, shhhh.” You do all you can to comfort him but, what possible words could end this pain? There’s not a single phrase out there that can make this stop, not right now.

“Why’d ya’ have to find em,” Angel whines, “why!? F-fuck, why’d ya’ do this to me? It’s so hard, it’s so hard. . .”

You rub his back. “It’s gonna’ be okay.”

“When!?” he challenges. “When does it _stop!?”_

You don’t know.

All you know is Angel cries and sobs. It hurts to hear, on levels you couldn’t imagine. You’re not even sure you’ve done the right thing. You hold him, but he doesn’t return it, just buries his face in your chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

Eventually he settles, pushing away from you. His face is a mess of runny makeup and he wipes his eyes, not looking at you.

“Baby,” you say, voice soft and pleading.

He holds himself. “I always thought, of all th’guys I knew, ya’d never hurt me.”

That drives a metric fuckton of pain right through your chest.

“Angel, _please,_ I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

He doesn’t respond, just looks at you with his blotch eyes, so wounded. “I’m tired.”

And he walks off, to the stairs, to his room, and. . . you can’t come with him. Fuck.

**_Fuck._ **

-*-

You’re on the couch for what seems like an eternity. What time was it? Late? Didn’t matter. Nothing seemed to matter right now. What the hell were you doing? What the fuck were you thinking!? You idiot. You utter, absolute idiot. Look at how much you hurt your spider. You lied to him. You brought up Junior. You _hurt_ him. You actually hurt him, probably worse than most others have in his life here.

You want to make this right but holy shit, how? What even do you do? Christ among the dead, just hearing Angel’s pained words. He blamed himself for Junior’s death. He’s been mourning nonstop. He’s been keeping it hidden, suppressing it. Oh, _baby,_ Angel, why? Why did you have to hide it all? God, you’d do everything to make him feel better! If only you knew, _if only you knew._

“Trouble in paradise?”

You don’t move. You know the voice. Hox, actually. Hox? Fuck, you could beat his stupid face in. This was his fault! His dumb plan and his heist and. . . ugh. You went with it. You could’ve declined, but you didn’t, so you’re to blame too.

He comes to the couch and glances at you, but you don’t look back.

“Whoa,” he says. “Goddamn Hiroshima, huh?”

He’s in a pretty casual attire and he seems to have sobered up.

“What is it, Hox?”

“Oh, well nothin’, was gonna’ get some food, but then you just appeared, loungin’ and moping.”

He blinks, seeing the anguish. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

You almost don’t want to tell him. You basically want him to fuck off, and yet, stay. So, you concede, and explained everything. About Angel’s reaction, about what’s been going on, the pressure within and the things that haven’t been said. All of it.

“I fucked up so bad,” you say, rubbing your head. “Hox. Shit man. Shit. I dunno’ what to do.”

You look at him. “He’s gonna leave me.”

Hox snorted and rolled his eyes, granting a stern chuckle. “Did he throw something at you and scream _it’s over!”_

“No.”

“Did he demand a divorce? Not like that works down here.”

“. . .no.”

Hox tilted his head. “Then relax. Congrats, newbie, you’re having a scuffle with your number one. But that doesn’t mean he’s leaving you.”

You glare at him. “This isn’t a goddamn joke.”

“It ain’t,” he concedes. “But arguments happen.”

He leans back in his seat. “Don’t mean you aren’t up shit creek though. You’ll be lucky to find a paddle, hah.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t mean to lie. I didn’t mean to hurt him like that.”

“In my opinion? Poorly timed, all of it,” Hox said. “Lie is gonna’ always hurt, no matter how small. Ain’t the lie, it’s the fact you did it. You kept it from him, or, that’s how he sees it.”

He pauses, considering. “The uh, son stuff. This isn’t much my business but that’s a big one, clearly.”

“He’s not the only one,” you say. “I miss my son too, Hox. But, I can’t let it get in the way, because Angel needs me.”

Hox scratches his head. “The hell does that mean? What about you?”

You scoff. “What _about_ me? Who cares. Angel’s more important.”

Hox chuffs. “Hooof. Wooof. Whoa, buddy, whoa. I may be a fuckin’ retired old grump and scuzzy, theivin’ shit, but even I know that’s not healthy at all.”

You shake your head, protesting. “You don’t understand. Angel’s been through worse, I have to support him, and that means making a sacrifice.”

“Sacrificing what? Yourself? Don’t be a self-inflicted martyr, numb nuts. That ain’t the way to think about this.”

He leans in, looking you over, frowning. “And the fuck do you mean he’s been through worse?”

Again, you give a dry, bitter chuckle. “What, do I have to spell it out? I can’t imagine how shit it’s been for him.”

“And you somehow think you ain’t been through the rough?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hox laughs, tilted his head, Doberman features stretched with a flabbergasted smile. “Really?”

He raises a hand, counting off a finger. “Not the stealin’ and struggling before you came to the Hotel?”

You shrug. “No.”

“Not futzin’ up the casino job and losing your eye and arm? And almost dyin’?” Another finger count.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not confronting some fuckin’ demigod loon? Or dying? Or coming back and then gettin’ your ribs smashed in every other weekend? Or havin’ some cowpoke asshole make you feel like shit? Or confrontin’ some stalker weirdo while getting’ thrown into a fuckzone of your worst memories, and almost dying again?”

Okay, Hox was being ridiculous, this was about Angel, not all these. . . things. . . and. . . how horrible they were and how often they happened and. . .

“Or, fucking hell, having some duplicate wacko almost murder you, and your guy, _again,_ and then get a son and then _lose_ your son? Or your ex-wife comin’ back? Twice!? Or the other Commission gangs? Or Alastor? Or livin’ with those two crazed muppets who also almost killed ya!?”

“All right, stop it!” you shout back. “I get it!”

Hox chuckles. “No you don’t.”

“What are you even fucking getting at!?”

He shrugs. “Anon, for fuck’s sake. When’s the last time you talked about this shit?”

You hesitate.

“Angel’s helped me.”

“You two talk about this stuff at length?”

“I don’t care about that!” you snap. “I want to fix what I did!”

“You’re a mess, dumbass,” Hox chides. “Gonna’ be hard to help your boy if _you_ ain’t all there.”

“You’re not helping!”

Hox crosses his leg. “On the contrary. What, you want my advice? Time. Your guy needs some time. But Anon, for all this gung-ho shit about talking, you’re not doin’ much of it.”

This was idiotic, you weren’t interested in talking about yourself. Wasn’t Hox even listening?

He seems to sense the notion. “You can’t keep doing that,” he says, like it’s a warning. “Not down here.”

You laugh, bitter. “Or what?”

“Aside from havin’ a fucked-up marriage? But all that shit you keep trying to suppress is gonna come back to bite you. We’re demons, remember? We can _regress.”_

You're not entirely sure what that means. Regress? Like, going "loony" as Angel's put it? Becoming a Deadhead? Well, whatever. It’s another problem for another time.

“Alright, fine,” you concede. “Put me in a strait jacket later.”

Your chest hurts. Devil, this is misery. “I just want Angel to be okay.”

Hox waves a hand. “I got that part, buddy. But you’re crawling through tunnels of glass for the sake of it. Don’t’ forget about yourself.”

You grunt. “What now then?”

“What _now?_ I’dunno, fuckin’ drink or take a walk or sleep. Nothin’ you can do right _now._ Angel, just give em’ time. I know he’s a, well, a guy, but he’s got the wrath of an angry woman in em’ and ain’t no words gonna’ settle that down. Let him cool off so you can talk again later.”

You grimace. “All that did was hurt him.”

“Yeah, no shit. No way that’ll go down easy. Losing a kid? Fuck, Anon. Some people. . . never get over that.”

You look at him, panicked. “What?”

“I don’t mean that’s gonna be Angel, I mean that it’s heavy, and it takes time, getting over a lost kid. A lot of it.”

You lean back in the couch, staring at the ceiling. “. . .yeah. We didn’t even have a real funeral for him.”

You rub your eyes. God this is tiring. “But the other thing, shit. How do I make this right?”

Hox starts to laugh. “He’s _your_ husband, smartass! Figure it out!”

Dammit. Yeah, he’s right.

The crux of all this is the thing with Cherri. Lying, no matter how small, set Angel off and rightfully so. At first you think it doesn’t matter because they were screaming at each other and looked like they weren’t friends anymore. But you _know_ that’s not really the case. They were pals well before you, probably for years, maybe decades. And _Cherri_ felt lied to. By proximity, you _did_ steal something: their friendship. You don’t want to isolate Angel, but you realize, you did it indirectly.

You have to fix it. Somehow.

Guess you’ve got plans again. You glance at Hox. “How long do they stay mad for?” You ask because it sounds like Hox has experience.

Hox breathes out. “Hooooo. Depends. Can be a real hurricane, I tell you. But hey, your boy didn’t split you down the middle, so guess shit creek ain’t the ocean.”

Great, so there’s not even a timetable. Well, you figure you’ve been through worse, you can overcome this.

“You make some kinda’ effort, then he’ll come around,” Hox continues. “Can’t just be a ‘sorry.’ Sorry is easy. Show em’ your sorry.”

Hox glances to the clock on the wall. “Fuck me, didn’t know I’d be playin’ therapist tonight. I oughta’ charge for this shit!”

You manage a single chuckle while Hox stands. “Anyway, if you’re smart enough to knock over banks and shit you can figure this one out too. And remember what I said.”

He gestures at you. “Fix _your_ shit. Forgot all about _yourself_.”

Yourself? Looking within feels like it’s nothing but trouble. All of it is just mistakes and flaws. And yet, Hox is right, if you can’t help yourself, you can’t help Angel.

Hox minds the silence while he rubs his neck. “I’m getting’ some grub. Hope the Hotel don’t mind. Want something?”

Your stomach might as well not exist. You shake your head. “No. Thanks.”

He nods, leaving the room. “And Hox. . .”

“Eh?”

“ _Thanks.”_

He laughs. “Once again I’m savin’ your ass.”

-*-

Tired.

But Angel couldn’t sleep. How long was he staring at the wall in his room? He lost track. Too long for any sane person, at least. Fat Nuggets had even gotten tired of cuddling and was nestled in his chest fluff, snoring in his own pigg-y way. His only source of comfort right now. He didn’t know what to make of any of this.

Why did his husband lie!? Fucking hell. It was so easy not to! It stung, and it seemed like it shouldn’t, but it did. Or was he being too harsh? Was Anon _really_ trying to keep him safe? After all, didn’t take much for Cherri to show her true colors.

But. . . but. . . it was true, he _hadn’t_ talked to her in so long, maybe she was right? But if she was right this just made everything worse and FUCK. This was so complicated, so much shit. He almost missed the simplicity of the old days. Why did getting better mean everything had to be so fucking painful!? And Junior, baby, Junior, Angel wanted to apologize so much, in a hundred ways, and he’d never get that chance.

Even though is boy was in a better place, the pain of his loss felt insurmountable to overcome. He wanted to cry more, but his eyes hurt too much.

A small buzz caught his attention. At first, he thought it was Nuggets, but the little oink was fast asleep. There was another one, and he realized it was a vibration coming from his nightstand. Pushing up, he sniffed and rubbed his eyelids with fingers, glancing to see his Hellphone light up. Someone was sending him a message.

What? Who?

He thought about leaving it there. He wasn’t exactly in a talking mood, but, even now, he was curious. He reached over and thumbed at the screen, checking the message. His eyes widened.

It was from Cherri.

From . . . Cherri? That was kinda’ weird. Cherri didn’t use phones, much. Ugh. Or maybe she did and he was neglecting her so long he wouldn’t know? He felt awful. He wanted to make that right. This wasn’t how friends were supposed to be. Sure, she was a bitch. Sure, she should be more supportive to his marriage, but at the same time, he did ice her for months, even if he didn’t mean to.

_xxxcherribombxxx: angie we need 2 talk_

He sighed, turning on his light.

_AngelDustOfficial: oh, hey_

_xxxcherribombxxx: sup_

_AngelDustOfficial: wut u want to do_

_xxxcherribombxxx: talk somewhere in person, not on phone_

Angel sighed. Yeah. Guess typing a half-hearted sorry in text wasn’t the best way.

_AngelDustOfficial: hmm, ok, how bout weekend at somewhere 2 eat_

_xxxcherribombxxx: fine. Pinque Tips?_

Angel managed a small smile. Pinque Tips was a little something-something, a mixture of bar, casino, and strip club. Food was eh, but it was one of their first hangouts.

_AngelDustOfficial: im down_

_xxxcherribombxxx: what time?_

_AngelDustOfficial: afternoon is best_

He thought about something else. What about Anon? Should he come along? But, then he realized, he had to make amends on his terms. There was a lot of shit to get through, but right now this was his responsibility. Cherri hurt him. He hurt Cherri. They needed to work it out, like friends, before anything else.

_xxxcherribombxxx: kay, 4 then_

_AngelDustOfficial: see u then, I’ll b there_

And that was all.

Well. It was something. He was still fuckin’ pissed with Anon and he was gonna be in the doghouse for a while. But once Angel got this other stuff figured out with Cherri, he’d start feeling better.

Maybe. . . maybe talking about things wasn’t so bad. He huffed, holding Fat Nuggets again.

He finally fell asleep.

-*-

Annie set the phone down and cracked her knuckles, looking at Valentino with a proud smirk. They were back in his suite quarters, and her plan was starting to take shape.

“See? Shit wasn’t so hard.”

He gave a hard grunt. “We’ll see.”

Fingers tapped. “What about the _other_ one?” said Valentino, meaning Anon.

She shrugged. “Pfft, if you don’t fuck around it’ll be a bit late for boytoy to do anything. In other words, _stick to my plan._ ”

Valentino wasn't eager to trust getting his precious diamond back to this woman, but it was working out thus far.

“Fine. Now, do _not_ damage my property. Understand?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, big V, like you ain’t cuffed him on the face before.”

“That’s _different_. That’s to settle him down. Train him. It’s never permanent. So, don’t scratch my diamond, _little girl,_ or you’ll regret it.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Valentino turned away, hands folded behind him, gazing at a massive poster of Angel Dust from his prime film days.

“See you soon, sweetheart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, this is why cybersecurity is so important, dammit!


	8. The Lights Rolled Over Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You talk with Angel Dust while he plans to work things out with Cherri.

**The Lights Rolled Over Him**

Two monsters were currently in a healthier relationship than you. You weren’t sure how to feel about that.

Breakfast was quiet – unusually so – as a fair chunk of the Hotel guests weren’t about. Angel certainly wasn’t and had decided to take his food in room. It hurt, but, you remembered what Hox said: he needed some time. And, frankly, so did you.

It didn’t mean, though, looking at Sarakk and Sarin getting along so _well_ wasn’t painful in its own strange way. You didn’t understand it. The bug was titanic compared to the rest of you, and lethal to boot. From what you understood he was a Nephilim, or a twisted one. But being that he was still technically holy in nature, it made him frighteningly dangerous to the demons around him. It wasn’t just his sheer strength, it was like he was a walking kernel of ancient heaven, one of the old soldiers, from the first days of earth and Hell. Or so the stories went, you guessed.

Yet this _thing_ shared his company with Sarin. He was affectionate with her, doting, and viciously protective. To the rest of you? Indifferent and unconcerned. You might as well been a gathering of gnats to him. But Sarin? All his attention, to her. _Why?_ Did you miss something? What the hell made them work together, anyway? Aside from the ability to commit mass murder with casual ease. Everything she did looked like it should’ve been a point of irritation, how she prodded and examined him, yet he didn’t mind. Even encouraged it, by the looks of things.

It also struck you that despite Sarin’s past of “touch = death,” her abilities appeared to have no effect on the lumbering insectoid. Hmm.

Whatever. You finished breakfast quietly and ignored them, seeing as they did the same to you (mostly). The rest of your day you spent thinking things over. About yourself, Angel, what Hox said. Especially what Hox said.

In your room, you busied yourself by looking over collected maps and schematics, though contemplating was hard. Every time you looked over a line or point of interest, you related it to a foundation, and when you thought of ‘foundation’ you reflected on yourself. All this time, all these months you’ve pushed so much of your history into the ground, done everything you could to forget it. Because why, on the premise “it’s not important?” You’ve been so focused on Angel you completely forgot about yourself.

It makes you sick. It makes you anxious, to mull it over, like you’re being threatened. The old lessons of the _Genovese_ dripped into your mind, how exposing oneself was a point of weakness. The mob has no time for that. Thieves don’t survive if they chat about their feelings. And yet. . .

Your marriage won’t survive if you keep it in. It scares you. It scares you because, a devious thought also comes forward. What if Angel isn’t supportive? What if he’s not who you thought he was? All this time, you’ve given him your all. You wanted it. You wanted to be everything, to let him pour the isolation, anger, sadness and everything into you. Will he do the same? It strikes you as a foolish, paranoid thought, but it lingers.

By the time it’s evening, you didn’t even realize the day had gone by. It blurs without your spider. You think, perhaps, you need to try and talk to him. Well, no, not _perhaps._ You must.

You stand, find some of your shit cheap whiskey and down a shot. As you do, the door raps.

“Yes?” you say, voice hoarse.

_“It’s me.”_

It’s Angel. You hesitate, setting the glass down, staring at the door. You don’t know what to say, exactly.

He does it for you. _“Can we talk?”_

Oh. He took the initiative for you. Despite the context of that statement, you’re not afraid of it. You’re not sure what to do, but you’ll start by talking with him. You go to the door and open it, where Angel stands, his features a little dull and his attire sort of “thrown on.”

He blinks, slowly, glancing behind you. “Ain’t seen dis’ place inna’ while.”

He means your room. You open the door letting him come in, where he saunters passed you. Once the door closes, he sighs, and two of his arms are crossed.

“Hey hon,” you chance. “How you holding up?”

Angel doesn’t respond at once, taking a moment to look around the room. It’s pretty foreign, admittedly. Most of the time you and he are in his room, and this one doesn’t see much of you.

“I’m holdin’,” he responds. “You?”

You think of lying. But. . . perhaps now it’s time to start being more honest. “I feel like shit.”

Angel looks at you. His mismatched eyes are a touch wider indicating he didn’t expect you to say that. He goes to the edge of your bedside, sitting and crossing legs.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Can we fix that?” you say.

Angel rubs the side of his head, huffing, gaze downcast. Fatigued, even. “Um. Look. Anon.”

“Still mad at me, huh?” you say.

He gives a slow shake of the head. “M’too tired to be angry. Tired of feelin’ sad n’mad and all dis other shit.”

“Angel. . .”

He raises a finger. “Shhh. Let me finish.”

You cross your arms.

“I been. . thinkin’ Anon, a lot. More than I like t’do. N’fact, I hate thinkin’. Cause I realize how much I fucked up n’shit and all the shit I do. It hurts. I wish it wouldn’t. But, ya’ know. . . the more I kept thinkin’, I realized, I ain’t the only one.”

Now he raises his gaze, and his extra hands join, rubbing together, nervous. “I. . . I aint been treatin’ you right, Anon. You’re. . . you’re my guy, and, I ain’t been considerin’ you in all this.”

He makes a gesture around him. You, however, feel like someone punched you in the chest. He doesn’t need to blame himself!

“Oh, Angel, no!”

“Stop!” Angel interjects. “Baby! Listen t’me. It ain’t right. It ain’t right what I’ve been doin’. I was mad at ya’ for a while, and den I realized I coulda’ done things different too. And, ya’ know what? I got mad at ya’ again, cause ya’ don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

He gives a hard, humorless chuckle. “And den I realized cause’ I don’t ask ya’. I keep takin’ ya’ fer granted. Ya’ don’t hurt me, ya’ take care of me, all ya’ ever do is fuckin’ think about me first. What about you, Anon?”

So, of course, your fear was misplaced, and you certainly feel like garbage for ever doubting your spider. But that feeling is quickly replaced by a bittersweet happiness. You’re overjoyed, over the Pentagram Moon to hear him say all this. But also, you realize it’s painful to say.

What do you even say? “I. . . I just miss you.”

Angel feigns a growl. “No! Stop doin’ dat! I want ya’ to talk to me! I want to take care of ya’ too! Don’t always make it about me!”

Everything Hox reminded you of – all the things you went through – threatened to come out in a horrifying display of word vomit. That’s so much and you can’t do it. Not right now.

So, you tell him that. “It’s a lot, Angel,” you say, voice strained. “I can’t now. Not yet. I just want to be with you, okay?”

He grumbles, not quite satisfied. “Alright.” He opens his four arms, making hands, and you go to him, where they embrace him.

It feels great.

“M’gonna’ do better,” Angel says as you sit next to him on the bed. “I gotta’ make shit right.”

He taps his toes on the ground. “Anon. . . I need to fix things with Cherri, too.”

You look at him. That’s entirely fair. “I should first,” you say. “I shouldn’t have lied about any of it.”

One of Angel’s spare hands rubs at your leg in comforting gesture, though he’s looking at the wall. “I’unno. Not yet. I need to fix dis’ first. Anon, I know ya’ ain’t a fan of hers, but, she’s my friend. She was with me fer so long. I wasn’t good to her either.”

He sniffs, rubbing at his eye. “Heh, I’m a fuckin’ asshole.”

You meet his hand and caress it too. “Maybe. But you know what? You’re a loving, kind, amazing person when you let yourself be.”

He manages a small smile. As for this Cherri business, you’re curious. “Well, what’s up with her, anyway?”

True, you aren’t really in her cheering gallery. At one point you viewed her as a threat to your status a thief, and _then_ as a threat to Angel’s well-being. That could still be true.

“M’gonna meet er’ tomorrow,” Angel says, in such a way that he’s already made up his mind. “At a joint we use t’hang out at. Got a text and she wants to talk, so I figure I owe it to her.”

You also notice he’s talking in singular, not including you. “I should be there.”

Your spider gives a slow shake of head. “Not fer this one, Anon. Dis I gotta’ do m’self. I owe it to her. She don’t feel important cause of me and, um. No offense, baby, but if ya’ come along she ain’t gonna’ like that.”

That sends a wave of mixed feelings through you, because on one hand, who fucking _cares_ how it made her feel? Angel was _your_ husband and _you_ looked after him. And, yet, on the other, that was selfish of you, and just because Angel was a big part of your life didn’t give you the right to shut out a part of his old one. And then on a _third_ hand, palling with Cherri got Angel into drugs and violence and overall, trouble. On a _fourth,_ you technically stole from her and indirectly split the two. This is happening because of you.

“Hmm,” you grumble, uncertain. “Can I ask what you plan to say?”

He shrugs. “M’gonna hear her out. But m’gonna let her know my life is changin’, ya know? I still love er. I still wanna’ see her, but, not like how it used t’be.”

That’s a little more reassuring.

“Apologize,” continues your spider. “Gonna’ apologize. S’best I can do.”

You grasp his hand. “I see. I _really_ don’t like you being on your own.”

He looks at you and manages a weak smile. “Aww, c’mon babe, ya’ know me. I can take care of myself. ‘Sides, I’ll let ya’ know where m’goin’ and the time and shit.”

He squeezes back. “Please trust me.”

Damn. Well, you’re gonna’ have to now. So you concede, nodding. “Okay. But, can you please promise me one thing?”

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Please, Angel, _please._ No drugs and no fights. It scared me bad last time.”

“Ey! Dat’s two things!”

You chuckle once. “Angel.”

“Okay, _okay,”_ he says. “Wasn’t gonna’ anyway. But I promise.”

Even hearing him say that, fuck, this whole thing doesn’t sit right. Something about it. Something you can’t shake. Out in the open? Angel _is_ Angel, more than capable of holding his own, and then some. He’s done it for _decades._ But still, what’s this weird pit of anxiety in your stomach?

“I trust you,” you say. And you do, you really do. What you _don’t_ trust is the rest of the city.

Hmm. You quickly remind yourself to be honest. “I am scared for you, though.”

“Awwwh, Anon, c’mon. Really?”

“Very.”

He sighs. “Guess ya’ got a reason t’be. Look, we’ze gonna be at _Pinque Tips_. I’ll be in the open. Kay? Place ain’t too far and the joint’s an entertainment place, ain’t nobody lookin’ to start shit unless they’re stupid.”

“Plus!” he added. “Cherri’ll be there too!”

Hmm. Yeah, true. Alright, he’s got a point. Cherri is probably still his friend. Or, at least, enough that she wouldn’t let something bad happen to Angel. And if she did, she was a piece of shit and you were right about her anyway.

You nod. “Yeah, okay. If you think _anything_ is about to happen, call me. Or anyone at the Hotel. I’ll settle for Raz or Daz if that’s what it takes.”

He snickers, rolling eyes. “Anon, I know we’ze havin’ a moment here, but I ain’t a bitch.”

You look at him.

“Not _that_ kinda’ bitch!”

You rub your chin. “Well. I don’t like it, but, if you need to do this.”

“I really wan’cha to like eachother. My best pals as besties? Oh, I’d be so happy!” says Angel.

“I don’t mean that, peppermint,” you return. “It just doesn’t feel safe.”

Now, he squeezes your hand tight. “Pockets. Look at me.”

You already were, but he means his eyes, which you do. Wide and innocent they were, despite their oft mischievous nature. “I _will_ be careful. I. Promise.”

Alright, well you’ve harped on him enough. Hey, he’s stared down entire gangs and held his own at the warehouse, among things. He fucked over the Better Half. He fought with Sarakk. Your spider is more than capable of protecting himself.

“I believe you,” you say. “I hope Cherri comes around.”

He nods. “Yeah. Me too. I think she will, though. She ain’t so good with uh, um. . .”

Angel snapped his fingers. “Er, how do I say dis? Like, discussin’ shit that don’t involve blowin’ stuff up.”

“That’s common, I see.”

He laughs, lightening, and it makes you smile. “Oh, trust me, babe, you wouldn’t be breathin’ if ya saw it.”

There’s a pause. A silence arrives, but not a bad one. In fact, you feel lighter. Good. Like, really good. Not only because you’re working this out with Angel, but it’s like a veil has been yanked off. As it turns out, talking about how you actually felt was a good thing. A _very_ good thing.

“Angel.”

“Nuh huh?”

You exhale, feeling fatigued. “Promise me one more thing?”

He studies you. “Yeaaaah?”

“Can we do this more often?”

Angel blinks. “Eh? Do what?”

“Talking. I like this, I like this a lot. Heh. Telling you, specifically, that is.”

He nods, a soft smile. “Pfth. Ya’ don’t gotta’ make me promise, pockets. I’m always here.”

“I mean it,” you continue. “Oh, sure, we could easily do a session with Charlie or something, but she’s really, fuck. Rainbows and puppies and sugar. With you it feels so much better.”

He turns, hiding a blush. “Feh. Guess I should be runnin’ dis dump.”

“Oh Angel, we’d just keep sinning.”

You both share a soft little laugh and he leans into you. It’s great. Nothing seems to break either of you apart. That bond is harder than steel, changing as a river, flexible as rubber. There’s still a lot of work to do, a lot of hurt to get over, a lot of things to discuss, but no matter what, you’ve always got your spider. It quiets down again, where Angel sniffs.

“Blegh, what is dat?” he says in reference to you. “You drinkin’ that cheap hobo whiskey again?”

“Can’t argue with the results!”

He makes a disgusted noise. “Ya’ even eat?”

You tell him no, aside from this morning. Angel disapproves, pushing himself to stand. “Lemme’ go grab ya’ somethin’. Figure we just ‘dine in,’ eh?”

You think of declining, because he doesn’t need to, and yet, the gesture is sweet and endearing. “I’d love that.”

He nods. “Mm. Kay. Back in a sec.”

He doesn’t take long and has a plate of something-something the Goat Bois whipped up, balancing it in hand. You oblige his sweet offer and dig into the jigsaw puzzle of edible meat and vegetables.

“What about you?” you say between bites. He waves it off.

“M’fine, ate a while ago.”

The food’s good, but it’s better because it’s with your spider. Once your belly is full a sense of tiredness returns, stronger this time. Turns out, painful emotions _really_ took it out of you. Angel notices and stretches.

“M’gonna go grab Nugsy. Ya’ know. If ya’ don’t mind us sleepin’ in here.”

He says it jokingly but also sort of seriously. You set the plate down and wipe your mouth with napkin. “Redecorate the place if you want.”

“Oh thank fuck, dis place is a wallpaper disaster!” he says with a cackle.

“I didn’t pick it.”

“Exactly!”

He leaves and returns shortly after while you clean up and prep for bed. Tomorrow, Angel’s heading out to sort things with his friend, and you have to wait. Guess you’ll pass the time by getting scuzzed with Hox or something.

Fat Nuggets is with and squeaks happily when he’s set down, running to and fro, snorting at his new surroundings and sniffing at everything. He’ll probably be up a while. As for you, you settle into bed where Angel does the same. You close your eye once, and all seems well. You open it, and feel his hand on your leg, squeezing.

You glance at him. He’s not saying anything, but, he doesn’t have to. You can see it. It’s all in the eyes, the gaze, the come-hither want, the longing you two share. He swings over your frame and presses his lips to yours. It’s soft and warm and carries a thousand conversations of intimacy. Fuck. It was only a day and you missed the hell outta’ him. He really is your greater half.

Clothes slip off and you’re careful with your prosthetic. Angel and you embrace, clung together, trading kisses, hot breaths, trying to find a comfortable position. You both take time. A lot of time. There’s a fatigued lust to it, a smoldering, exploding love. It’s not a wildfire, nor a blaze, it’s a carefully managed fire, standing against all the cold winds and storms. Hell, for what seems like an eternity you and he explore the other with touches and kisses and squeezes. Even though both your erections are stiff and obvious, the drive to just fuck isn’t there. Well, it _is,_ but what you both find is the beauty of each other’s presence.

Eventually, Angel does speak through hot breaths. “Fff, ya’ got lube n’here, right?” he says, voice a whisper.

You nod, glancing to your side, straining to reach for the nightstand.

“I gooot it,” Angel interjects.

Well, he finds it alright, and rest is how it goes. His skilled digits work your inches over, warm tingles of rising excitement flooding through your loins. Then he rises too, haunches finding their place, before descending, enthroning himself on your crotch. His frame is light and soft, adorned with the scent of him, an ambrosia you can’t exactly describe. It’s there, subtle, but also not, though it just makes him far more attractive to you.

The motions are familiar but new. They’re not ravenous. Slow, loving, steady and paced, focused more on the time than the outcome. You’re both holding each other, becoming the island, escaping Pentagram City. The sex isn’t here to push down the hurt anymore. It’s healing.

There’s that eventual jolt of hot electricity, that rising intensity of physical bliss causing you both to buckle and clench. Sometimes, it’s quite astonishing what the body can produce sensation wise – even if it is still Hell. Once you both reach peak, the dizzying afterglow follows, like drifting in clouds while you cling and yearn for the other. You don’t have to speak, you’re both intimate and familiar. You don’t have to reassure each other of anything beyond working on your emotional problems – the foundation is simply too strong.

Well, you almost sleep without saying something.

“Ah, dammit,” you croak, grinning, “And I just cleaned up.”

-*-

I feel better in the morning. A lot better. Sure, Anon’s room is sort of a bland dump and he ain’t changed it much since he came to the Hotel, but, it’s him and I’m sharing it with him. Can’t get better than that. Well, anyway, I’m still cross with him, I think, but not in the typical way. I’unno how to explain it, exactly? Frustrated ain’t it, per say. Ain’t like, screaming angry either. But, we’ze off to a real good start and, even though there’s this forest of fuckin’ problems ahead I think we’re ready for it. I love em’, nothin’ll change that, but holy shit we got work to do. What I feel is more like, ‘fuck, alright, roll up ya sleeves, here we go.’

Anyway, I get ready and clean up and put my face on. Feel a little lighter. It’ll be nice to square things out with Cherri. I hope, at least. But we’ze been pals for I can’t remember how long. She taught me everything I knew, got me around, got me _drugs,_ just, shit, a one-bitch act of nothin’ but parties and good times. She listened though too, in those rare moments. She could open up (and I don’t just mean her legs). I wanna’ be her bestie still. We just can’t operate like we used to.

Downstairs it’s all real normal. Funny, I don’t think the others know what’s up, entirely. Hah, I mean, _Vag_ sure does, what doesn’t snatch keep up with these days? But me goin’ out seems pretty routine. Anon meets me, of course, and we talk a bit. I tell em’ what I told em’ before, about the place and time, all dat shit. He don’t like it, and I kinda’ get it. Ain’t many things we do by ourselves. But dis one? This one I need to handle. I gotta show Cherri I love her. I gotta show _myself_ I still love her. This problem ain’t just about the warehouse job, this has been months of not talkin’. What do they call it? I fuckin’ ghosted her, and even though I didn’t _mean it,_ that don’t make it okay.

“You call if something goes wrong,” Anon says. He’s told me that a buncha’ times. Dunno’ why he’s all futzed about dis, but, I don’t blame em’.

“I know, I will,” I say back, smoochin’ him on the cheek. “We’ll talk more when I get back, na’llright?”

He smiles at least. “I look forward to it.”

I do too. S’weird, actually. Er, well, almost all the way, thinkin’ about Junior still hurts, ain’t gonna’ lie, but, we yanked the tooth at least. We took our first step.

I grab a shot just to settle my nerves a bit n’then head out. Specks is my taxi guy, at dis point, and I think he offers discounts now? I’unno, is that what _hggrblegghr_ means?

The ride takes almost an hour. _Pinque Tips_ is an old hangout like I told my Anon. S’like a uh, buffet of stuff. Gamblin’, shows, drink, ain’t so bad. Floozies hang around and everything’s pretty easy. Ain’t no trouble because why would anyone wanna’ cause problems? Like, the fuckin’ city sucks, so no need to ruin one of the few good things that every palooka can enjoy.

Nostalgic too. It’s owned by a small family, I think, who also ran the first strip club I worked at. Lotta’ decent memories. One in particular not so great, but, I ain’t worried about it.

Yeah. That’s the other bridge I need to cross. In all this, I never told Anon about. . . _him._ I mean, I was puttin’ that life behind me anyway. It was an afterthought. When you got Lucy’s little monster on yer side, all that old shit kinda’ fades off, don’t it? And, what with the radio silence on his end, I figured he forgot about me. He could find someone else. Probably did. Right? Of course.

Still. Anon don’t know, exactly. I wasn’t hiding it, exactly, it just never came up and never seemed relevant no more. I was a free agent for a long fuckin’ time. Seems like that old life just went its own way, ya know? Hah.

But. Still. I ain’t looking forward to telling him about-

My eyes snap to the left and ah, there she is! Ol’ Pinque Tips! Beautiful as ever! And hey, they fixed that sign, finally! New paint job, fuckin’ nice.

I yank out my Hellphone: two minutes to four. I don’t see Cherri anywhere yet, but, I figure she’ll be here soon. I mean, something might blow up, so I’ll _know._

Anyway, cab stops and I tip ol’ Specks and ask him to come back around in an hour, I think. He makes a “sound” and drives off. The afternoon ambiance crashes over me and it’s the typical bullshit you can expect. A beautiful chaos. You could lose yourself in it and forget everything.

I walk in and the noise inside is _slightly_ more tolerable. It’s a mix of grunts from annoyed gamblers to music paired with slot machines. It’s fairly big and, ya know, put together for a joint like this. I look around, and again, don’t see my girl, so, I figure I’ll nab myself a drink. I’m getting nervous, but only ‘cause of all the shit I gotta’ talk about. I really hope I can work this out with Cherri. I want it to. I want her and Anon to be good too. I can’t force that, but, fuck, that’d be the best!

One nice thing ‘bout this place is you can mix yer own drinks, so I make myself somethin’ real easy. Triple-sec with a little OJ (or what passes for it Down Here, anyway). Good and tart. Cherri, I had to teach her, that girl would just guzzle anything if it got her wasted.

Hmm. 4:09 now. I’m gettin’ antsy. I know she ain’t polite about time, but, what if she ditched me? What if she figured dis wasn’t worth and decided not to come? Fuck.

I glance around again from the bar. Oh, hey, waitasec! I see er’! Kinda? I think that’s her, some blondie at least sittin’ at a table. She’s got her back turned lookin’ out the building window, but, if it ain’t her then fuck, who else? I also tip the barkeep and trot over, thinkin’ this through. Okay. Just breathe, say hi, have a seat. Try to apologize. Or maybe let her talk first? Yeah. If she’s angry she’s gotta vent? We’ll figure it out.

As I get closer, I call her name. “Cherri?”

She don’t move. So I say it again. “Ey, Cherri! That you?”

This time, she does, turning around to face me. I’m relieved and-

And it’s not Cherri.

“Sup, legs.”

The wig’s tossed off. It ain’t Cherri, it’s. . . it’s Annie!? The ex-bitch!?

Something appears from her side and I can see it’s a gun!

“What the fuuuaaaaggh. . .”

And, and, aaaaaaand. . .

-*-

The sleeper dart found its mark with relative ease. Angel was tall, but not _wide,_ so the effects were near immediate. He coughed, he sputtered, he struggled, trying to hold himself up as his frame shook and buckled. He croaked for help, attempting to summon a weapon. It didn’t work. His mind screamed and his vision darkened, but the surprise attack had worked. He was falling unconscious.

There was a _thump_ as his limp frame collapsed to the ground. Annie stood, making a gesture. At once, two larger stiffs appeared and grabbed Angel’s limp frame carrying him along. For anyone that had been looking, there was a fat stack of bills in their pockets to keep them nice and quiet. They carried Angel out towards a side entrance, in the building’s alley, where a massive, regal limousine was waiting. Its windows were tinted and its metallic frame was luxurious, indicating astonishing wealth, even by the standards of demonic elite.

Once the three arrived at the vehicle’s end, its door slid open. From the dark, a pair of eyes stared through, adorned with heart-shaped frame glasses.

“See?” Annie said to the shape. “Easy.”

The figure looked at Angel’s unconscious frame. “Did you _damage him!?”_

“No, ya twit! He’s sleeping like a little baby. He’ll be up soon.”

A grunt. “Hmph. Bring him in. Carefully.”

The guards did as told, getting Angel into the backseat with careful diligence, if only because they feared the wrath of their boss more than their concern of Angel’s well-being.

A sigh of relief escaped the figure. “Thank the devil.”

A gesture. “The three of you lay low. We’ll pick you back up in another hour. Discuss your payment afterward.”

Annie made a face. “Yeah. Ya’ better, Big V. We square now, right?”

Valentino grinned, showing his many razor teeth. _“Very.”_

The door slammed shut and the limo quickly pulled off, humming down the deep streets, further into the heart of Pentagram City, into the veins where only the wealthy lurked, the powerful, the Overlords.

Back where Angel Dust belonged.

-*-

[The lights rolled over his limp](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keV4A19P7Z4), fluff-white frame in jarring rhythms, washes of pink-reds bathing him in a sordid, alien illumination. Alien, because these weren’t the lights he was used to, they were the hues of his old life, his old world, what he yearned to escape from. He grumbled, straining, forcing his eyelids open, the mud of darkness clouding his sight, the unfamiliar roar of engine underneath him. But then. . .

There _was_ something familiar. The stench of cigar smoke intermixed with expensive alcohol clashing against pricey perfume. The sensation of soft, black-leather and pink shag carpeting that groaned and squeaked when you shifted your weight against it. The frame draped in scarlet coat accented with leopard-print and that horrifying, possessive gaze.

Cold, nightmarish fear gripped Angel like nothing else. He faced down Hell’s worst, gangbangers and criminals and even fucking demigods. But this, _this. . ._

This couldn’t be real.

This. Couldn’t. Be. Real.

And then, violent, brutal, unflinching words shattered any notion Angel was in a dream with their sickening, soft, velvet tones of promises.

“Hello Angel.”

Said Valentino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I saw a sign that said "danger, no right turn ahead."


	9. Regress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel confronts his situation with Valentino. Hox informs the Hotel of what happened.

**Regress**

It wasn’t a bad trip. It wasn’t a nightmare or drug-induced hallucination, not a fever dream inspired by endless shots of alcohol. It was worse. It was so much worse.

It was real.

Angel Dust had seen a lot of things in his time Down Here. Decades of sex and violence, sometimes both, chased with hard drugs and harder men. He’d faced down demons and abominations from every side of the Pentagram, the worst of the worst. Hell, only some time ago he’d fought a shithead who thought he’d yank reality apart with some fancy bullshit tech. He wasn’t scared of all that, despite the dangers to his mortal soul. He wasn’t even scared of the annual purges.

But _this._

“Hello Angel.”

The words crept into him like a cold river, filling his insides with a dreadful, churning anxiety. The sensation of velvet interior was familiar, and instead of creating comfort, it only instilled horror. Angel pushed himself up from his seat, in total disbelief, refusing to believe this was true, this was happening. But it was. It was all there. Same interior, same vehicle, same windows, same eyes, same shit eating grin. It was Valentino.

Angel stared, studying the creature opposite seat of him. Of all the things Angel saw, of all the sinners and terrors lurking in Hell, Valentino was the worst of them. Not like the spider planned to stick around for long – fuck this guy. At once, he focused, and prepared to summon a submachinegun, enough to blow a hundred rounds right through this foul fuck and send him, to, well, _Hell._

A scream of electricity tore into his neck, a sharp pain consuming his lithe frame.

“NAGGH!”

Valentino frowned, reaching out. “No, no, no, Angel baby, don’t do that.”

Hot, nerve-rending agony consumed Angel, forcing him to cease his summon attempt. He gasped, buckling briefly, boggling. What the hell was that!?

Angel wanted to scream, and not because of the pain. Angel _baby?_ Only one person got to call him that. And. . . and he wasn’t here. . .

As for the source of the pain? Around Angel’s neck was a collar, a tight band of black leather. It nearly paralyzed Angel, thwarting his ability to summon anything, much less a weapon. “I didn’t think you’d try something so stupid,” said Valentino. “But you’ve been out of the studio too long.”

Angel touched his neck and winced, glaring at Valentino. Val returned with a smirk. “Don’t fuss with that, Angel. I think you get the idea already, right? Try any of your _tricks_ and that will remind you of your place. Between us, I’d rather you not.”

“F-fuck you,” Angel managed, coughing, afterglow of pain still with him. He glanced through the window, noting the progression of buildings flying passed him, soaked in neon. They were getting further into a part of the city, the ritzier side, a familiar side Angel didn’t like. Towards Val’s studio.

Valentino narrowed his eyes, puffing on a cigar. “I’ll ignore that one this time. _For you.”_

Cold panic set in now. Angel realized he couldn’t fight his way out of this. He also realized a lot of things, remembering the trap and what he told Anon. Oh, fuck, Anon!

Angel hissed. “What da’fuck do ya’ think yer doin’, Val?”

Val chuckled. “Sorry?”

“Ya’ got a deathwish?”

Valentino blinked, looking at Angel, stunned. “Are. . . you threatening me, Angel?”

“I ain’t afraid of you,” Angel shot back. “And ya’ take this collar off and I’ll _show_ ya’ a threat!”

Val looked at Angel a long while, and Angel recognized that look. That horrible pause. Valentino sighed, putting out the cigar, and in one smooth motion Val’s tall frame reached over and struck Angel across the face with a hard smack, cuffing him on the side. It stung bad, causing Angel to yelp and hiss.

“ _Fuck_!” Angel spat. “Ya’ stupid motherfucker!”

Val growled. “Now, now, Angel, I _really_ hate doing that. I do. But _you_ don’t _ever_ threaten me. You really forgot who you were talking to, didn’t you?”

Angel rubbed his face, flipping Val off. Val sighed.

“I blame myself, in a way,” Val said. “I let you run off too long. Gave you too much independence. Now you’re full of all this rebellious nonsense. You should be happy. This is a _happy_ time.”

There were a thousand things to process at once. Fury, fear, despair. The longer this ride went on the closer they were getting to his studio. The closer they got, the more trapped Angel was, trapped like the old days. Confined and smothered by this shithead.

“Ya’ think ya’ can do this?” said Angel, looking back to Val, caressing his reddened cheek. “Ya have any idea what ya’ just did?”

“That sounds like another threat.”

Angel ignored him. “Ya have any idea what’ll happen when Chuck finds out!?”

Valentino blinked. “Chuck? Ah, wait, you mean Lucifer’s little disappointment. Ahaha, Angel, _please._ What exactly do you think will happen? She’ll come screaming to your rescue? The brat is a headache, and I’m sure I might get a stern call from Lilith, but. . .”

Val studied Angel. “Oh, what am I telling you this for? You wouldn’t understand. You have _no_ idea how it works out there, baby. That’s why you’re best in the studio. I do all the big thinking, remember?”

Fucking asshole.

But. . . was he wrong? About Charlie? She could do something, right? “If ya’ was as smart a ya’ think ya’ was, you’d take her more seriously.”

Valentino laughed. His hideous, warm laugh. “Angel, enough. Try to follow along with me, here. That little upstart has _nothing._ She doesn’t have support from any of the major names in the city. Her mother’s voice isn’t enough, and Lucifer, aha, he’d be amused if nothing else. Everyone knows you belong to me, Angel, no one’s going to give me trouble for taking back what’s mine.”

“Fuck you!” Angel roared back. “I ain’t yours! I never was!”

Val gestured around him. “Evidence to the contrary.”

Angel’s heart sank. Shit. It was no secret Val was an ass, but he was a shithead with a lot of resources and names. Lots of connections. And those connections went _deep,_ enough that Val didn’t have to be some all-powerful demigod himself to get what he wanted. Fucking politics.

A shuffle of ice broke Angel’s thoughts as Valentino opened a compartment in the car, revealing a bottle seated in chilled ice. “Oh, diamond, don’t be upset,” continued Valentino. “You should be excited. You’re coming home, _finally._ Back where you belong and where it’s safe. All your friends are there, did you know? I told them you were coming back and they were just _thrilled.”_

Val pulled out a bottle of wine. “I even got your favorite for the occasion,” he went on, holding the bottle up. “ _Stella Rosa._ Yes, the _actual_ kind, imported straight from Up Above.”

One of Val’s extra arms held up a glass. “Pour you one?”

This was getting bad, fast. Angel thought to challenge this, to remind him of someone else, of _Anon._ Oh, Anon, he missed him already. Fuck! This was a nightmare! He didn’t understand how this was happening! This morning he was talking with his husband and now he was _abducted!_ Fucking shitfuck!

Now came another fear, one wholly different. Not for himself, but for his Anon. Anon wasn’t the type who reacted to bad news well, and it was only a matter of time before this all came to a head. He needed his husband so badly, and yet, what would Anon do!? Try something stupid and half-baked, probably, rush in like a fool and get himself killed!

“No,” Angel growled. “I want ya’ to fuck off and let me out.”

Val clicked his tongue. “You’re just confused.”

“Let me _go!”_

Valentino made a gesture in the air. “Angel, baby, you’re all mixed up. You _think_ you don’t want this, but you do. Come on, only I know you that well, only me. Hell is an awful place and you’ve been on your own too long. No wonder you’re acting this way. Probably scared, right?”

Angel said nothing.

Valentino tilted his head. “Oh, Angel, don’t be. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d _never_ hurt you.”

“Ya’ fuckin’ hit me you shitbag!”

Valentino rolled his eyes. “Please. It’s like getting hit with a newspaper. You’re not reasonable, Angel, sometimes you need a little swat. But I’m not going to _hurt_ you.”

Angel wanted to throw up. He’d heard that so many times, that same, sickening, black lie that wormed its way into him, got him dizzy, fucked him up, made false promises. Valentino had given him many, many black eyes, among things.

“You hurt _yourself_ ,” he continued, “We both know that. If you were agreeable, I wouldn’t need to set you straight.”

He chuckled. “That said. . . what? What do you think, baby? You think I’m taking you back and I’ll beat you? Or I’ll throw you to the dogs, let them run a train on you? Angel, _my diamond,_ you’re precious. You’re safe now. That will _never_ happen.”

Angel forced a smirk. “Ya’ serve ya’ bullshit on a nice pretty plate, ya’ know that?”

Val sighed, pouring himself some of the wine. “You’re impossible. What’s gotten into you?”

“Better dick than you, can’ tell ya’ that much.”

Val twitched, if only slightly. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck you, that’s what,” spat the spider, crossing his arms. “I ain’t afraid of you, you shit-eating discount pimp. Go ahead, bitch, beat me raw. Get ya’ goons to fuck me, I ain’t afraid of that either. Know what I am, though? M’fraid of what I’d _really_ do if I got dis collar off.”

Part of that was true. Angel felt sick, and cold, and anxious. His guts squirmed, he squeezed his hands. But he wasn’t afraid of what Val would do, or might do. He was afraid. . . he wouldn’t see the Hotel again. He was afraid he’d never see his friends, and most importantly, his husband. He was afraid for Anon.

But he wasn’t about to give this shit-eater satisfaction. He would be brave, and strong, if for no one else but his husband. If for no one else but himself.

Val, however, reached over and grabbed him by the face, clenching _hard,_ yanking the spider close. He stared into Angel’s mismatched eyes, applying a stern, frightening amount of force.

“Angel. I can get more creative than _that.”_

Angel wanted to spit on him. Val grinned, however, showing off his gold, glinting tooth.

“Ah, you’ve always been a fighter, though.”

He released him. “You just need some time to adjust, I understand. You always do.”

Val sat back in his seat, adjusting tall hat. “The sooner you stop fighting, the better it gets, Angel. Honestly, you’re being a brat. You’re getting everything again, and _more,_ so be grateful _._ We all want you back at the studio. Vox, he’s thrilled, did you know? Oh, it’s been awful, the talent we’ve gone through. You were always the best. And Velvet? She missed you too.”

Angel was hitting a wall. “I don’t want any of that,” he said. “Just lemme’ go home.”

“We _are_ going home.”

Val snapped his fingers. “By the by, almost forgot. Word got around you were pumping some stud for money a good long while. Some dunce in a suit? Good to see you so successful, but, you _owe_ me for the cut.”

Angel leered. “Are ya’ fuckin’ crazy!?”

“I run a _business,_ Angel, and as much as I care about you, keeping you in good shape isn’t _cheap._ But we’ll sort all that out soon, don’t worry. For now, think about celebrating.”

This was insane. Over and over Angel closed his eyes, opened them, hoping he was trapped in some horrid dream. But no matter how many times he tried, he had to accept it: this was real, this was happening. He felt his stomach sink into a hopeless pit. He couldn’t defend himself. He didn’t even know if he could call Anon! And, Anon, _god. . ._

The worst thing about all this is Anon never knew. Angel always hoped to bury his past with Valentino, since it hardly seemed relevant after the Hotel business. He faded away, and Angel figured – at the time – Val moved on to different “actors.” Never felt the need to bring up his old. . .

_His old pimp._

He regret that, especially now. Just like Anon, he was hiding too much, and like Anon, it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Was it too late to fix this?

No, _no!_ It never was. He wasn’t about to give up. He couldn’t. He’d been through worse. Right? Fought through hell and back, to put it mildly. Yet, this felt like something worse, a return to all the old ways he wanted to get away from. Worse, Valentino’s studio was nothing short of a fortress. A _real_ one. Not like the Commission building or hell, even the casino vaults. Val had a whole militia of bootlickers defending his turf, riding that payroll. What with Vox at the helm, the studio drew in insane levels of income. Angelic and Exterminator weapons were everywhere, and even if by some miracle one got passed it all, Val had resources and connections just on name alone. _Fuck._

Angel looked away. Anon and the rest would find out soon. What happened after that, he didn’t know, and it was this unknown truly scaring him.

A sip broke his attention.

“Sure you don’t want any, Angel?” Val said.

Angel drew his eyes back to the source of his torment. What could he do, in this moment? He couldn’t fight back, or run. He’d rather be dead than with Valentino, but that just meant he wouldn’t be with his Anon. He could curse and spit and resist, but Val was dangerous, and not in the physical sense. He’d plan something twisted, well beyond being physically beaten. He was disgustingly cruel in his imagination.

He wasn’t helpless, yet he was. Fuck. All he could do. . . was concede. Play the part. Let Valentino believe Angel was “his.”

“Fine,” Angel grunted, looking away. It felt wretched, made his skin crawl just to accept anything from Val, but if he kept throwing metaphorical punches, his situation would get vastly worse.

Valentino sneered. “That’s my spider.”

Angel wanted to vomit. He didn’t look at the moth as he poured the _Rosa,_ handing it over. Angel snatched the glass and took a sip. The flavor was crisp and refreshing, and absolutely the real thing, delicious to the tongues of sinners. To Angel, it was poison.

He said nothing, swigging the wine down, gazing out the window again. Even though it’d been a while since he was in this part of Pentagram City, an uneasy familiarity came over him. He recognized the silhouettes of tall building, the glitz of entertainment banners and their distinctive names. Valentino’s studio wasn’t far now.

Angel clutched his wrist where the serpentine mark was. At least Anon was here, even when he wasn’t.

-*-

Hox rushed to the Hotel door with panicked steps. Guess Anon’s instinct wasn’t wrong.

Before Angel left, Anon pulled him aside. Kept talking about how this little outing of Angel’s didn’t “feel right,” that something was off. Hox insisted he was paranoid, but, Anon asked him if he could just do a pass where Angel was going, see if everything was okay.

Everything was not.

Even Hox could recognize the unmistakable shape of motherfucking _Valentino’s_ vehicle as it pulled away. It didn’t take a genius to put the math together, either. Why else would his car be around Angel’s location? What possible other reason was there? A friendly chat? No. No, this was bad. Hox didn’t know Angel that well, but he _did_ know the spider was important to Anon, to put it mildly. Hox had no idea what this was all about, but it couldn’t be good. If Angel was in danger. . .

Didn’t matter, first things first. He hustled into the Hotel. Husk was in the foyer, as usual, dropping a snark, but Hox didn’t hear it. In fact, it alarmed Husk to see the dog move in such a state. Hox sprinted until he found Anon, who was seated in the living quarters, arms crossed, foot tapping. He was clearly anxious, impatient, waiting, but for different reasons. Once Hox appeared, the shadow shifted, looking in his direction. He could see the panic.

“Anon,” Hox rasped. At once, Anon stood, noting the fright in Hox’s expression.

“Hox? What? Did you check on Angel?”

Hox nodded, catching his breath. “Yeah, uh. . .”

An uncomfortable pause choked the air. Anon looked Hox over, sighing. “What? Oh, goddammit, did something happen? Did they get into trouble?”

By “they” Anon must’ve meant Cherri and Angel. Hox couldn’t waste time. Longer he did, worse this got, though admittedly, a part of him was scared to.

“Anon,” said Hox. “He’s got him.”

Anon blinked. “What?”

“Valentino, Anon. He must’ve been around there, or some of his goons, or something. But all I know is his car was there, and Angel went in, and the car left and Angel didn’t!”

The words hit Anon like a brick, his expression shifting to an alarmed confusion. “Whoa, Hox, hang on. What? Slow down. Valentino? Who?”

Now Hox was shocked. Anon didn’t know!? Angel never told him?

“What the fuck do you mean Angel _didn’t?”_

Anon’s tone was rising now, an anxious frustration building. Christ among the dead, this was bad.

“His _pimp,_ Anon! His pimp! Valentino is a pimp, and he snatched Angel! I know he did!”

Might as well have slapped the guy. Anon’s face tugged with an angering, terrified frown. “Excuse me?”

He got closer. “This isn’t fucking funny, Hox.”

“Listen to me!” Hox grunted. “I know what I saw. He got nabbed, and if we sit around talking, well, shit, I dunno!”

Anon struggled, laughing, a cold, humorless laugh, in denial. “This doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

“Anon!” screamed. “Angel’s been _kidnapped,_ alright!”

The words cut through the air like a cold knife, and Anon stared. He studied Hox like he was a stranger, the words creeping into his mind, the dreadful realization taking hold. His eye narrowed, his breath raced, he glanced around, hapless, as if there was something that might give him a different answer.

“I’m sorry, Anon,” Hox said. “Valentino got him, okay? We need to let Charlie know.”

Anon stared into the dog. “ _You let this happen?”_

Hox looked confused. “What? No, I saw it and-”

Hox didn’t have time to finish his sentence as a hard, metal fist came screaming into his face. Anon’s prosthetic smashed him across the ear and cracked him hard, sending thin rivers of blood exploding from Hox’s maw as he collapsed to the floor, yelping in shocked pain.

“GNNH!”

_“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WATCH HIM!”_ Anon screamed, rage consuming his tone.

Hox growled, grasping his mouth as hot crimson rushed free. His ears flicked, looking up to the shadow. The shadow that didn’t sound like itself, the shadow with its face twisting with features of fear and rage.

“Is everything okay!”

Hox glanced to his side as he tried to stand, hearing the soft voice of Charlie enter the quarters. Her figure emerged, head poking in from the room entrance, gazing at Hox. She gasped, seeing Hox’s state, rushing to him. When Hox looked back, Anon wasn’t there. What the fuck?

“Mister Hox!” said Charlie, helping the Doberman demon to his feet. “Oh god, what happened?”

“Chssh,” Hox hissed. She was accompanied by the Bois as well, the familiar soft wing-flaps following her concerned voice.

“Baaaahhhh!” bleated the Goat Bois in unison as they rushed to Hox, immediately fussing over him with wide, concerned eyes.

“Bahhh! Baaah!!?” inquired Raz.

“BAH!” yelped Daz.

“We need to get that patched up,” said Charlie, holding Hox up as red streamed from his mouth. He shook his head, waving everyone off.

“Charrleesh, lishen,” he said, grunting from the pain. She shook her head.

“No, no! Don’t talk, you’ll make it worse! Go sit, please,”

“GODDMMITT!” bellowed Hox, turning on her. “LISSHEN! Anggsh! Heeesh gone!”

“Mister Hox. . .”

The words were hard to get out. Fuck, that arm was a nasty hook. “Listhen, Angel! Got. Taken. Valentino.”

At once, Charlie froze, staring at Hox. “ _What did you say?”_

Her eyes went wide and frightened, turning to Dazzle. “Daz, go get Vaggie. **_Now_** _.”_

She looked to Hox again. “Please, tell me that isn’t true. You’re saying. . . Angel’s with _Valentino?”_

Daz, hesitant, looked between the two before realizing this situation was far worse than he thought. His brother nudged him with a comforting nod as the Boi fluttered off, while Raz wiped at the pools of blood.

Hox gave a sober nod in the meantime. “Hessh got him, Charliessh.”

Charlie put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my god.”

It was the first time Razzle, in all his service to the Magne family, had ever heard his mistress sound so genuinely afraid. Not for herself, no, but for Angel. Even _he_ knew the bad kind of person Valentino was.

“Mister Husk!” Charlie screamed. “Mister Husk, I need you, NOW!”

There was a startled set of footsteps as the winged cat demon appeared, holding his heat. “Jeezus, Miss, what the hell!? Did somebody shit on the carpet?” He wanted to grumble more until he saw Charlie’s face and the state of Hox.

“. . .what’s going on?”

Charlie looked to Husk. “Mister Husk, I need you to help Hox with his injury. Razzle, go get something to dress the wound!”

She looked to Hox. “How did this happen?”

Hox sighed. “Anonsh.”

“He did this? But why?”

“I toldsh him.”

Were it possible for Charlie’s snow-hued flesh to go a shade paler, it did. **“ _Where is Anon?”_**

Husk approached now, rubbing his head. “Miss? What the fuck? Somebody tell me what the shit’s goin’ on!?”

She ignored this, waiting for Hox to reply. The Doberman gave a weak shrug. Her terrified eyes boggled, and she grabbed Husk.

“ _See to his injuries, Husk!”_

Before she allowed a response, she rushed off.

No. No no no. A dark, anxious fear took her heart. She could feel it, the sense of panic overtaking herself, the dread Anon was no doubt consumed by. Father only knew what Angel was going through. And the shadow? Experience told her he wouldn’t react well to this _at all,_ and she had to stop whatever was about to happen. One guest in danger was bad enough! She ran, ran as fast as she could, every footfall igniting a new wave of panic inside her. Oh no, no, NO! The implications of everything were crashing upon her. It was happening so fast, so quickly. In one moment, the Hotel was fine, carrying on as usual, and in the next, she learned _Valentino_ had Angel.

She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know what to think! All she had was what was in front of her, and right now she had to make sure everyone was together and safe, _including_ the one person who might do something drastic.

Up the stairs, down the hall. She was getting closer. “Anon!” she shouted, rushing to his door, to his room.

“Anon, wait!” she yelled. “Just wait!”

To his door now, which. . . wasn’t closed. Wasn’t even locked. She stopped, panting, wiping sweat from her brow, chest heaving. She stared at the knob, realizing at once, something was very, very wrong. Not in the typical way, either. The knob of his door looked _scratched._

“Anon!” she said, pushing through.

She froze.

“Oh no.”

She wasn’t entirely sure what she expected. A frightened, infuriated Anon, perhaps. A figure pacing back and forth, trying to call Angel, maybe. Some indication he was here. But he wasn’t. Not anymore. It was vastly worse than she could’ve imagined.

His quarters were in total disarray. Along the walls, long, deep cut marks were made. Objects had been thrown about and property cracked part. The wood floor splintered in strange, odd foot shapes, and it looked like a ravenous animal had rushed through, razing and slashing at everything in its path. The window was shattered open, pieces of torn suit on its glassy sides, implying he’d run through it. But why? That didn’t make sense, even if he was so foolish he wanted to save Angel by himself.

In a moment of mental fright, she looked around, noting the marks and cracks and splinters. Was he. . . captured? No, no, that didn’t make sense. It looked like he’d run to his door and. . . broken it open? Why? He was angry, he had to be, but the markings didn’t match.

Anger. Fear. Potent emotions. For demons, wholly damning, mutating even.

She gasped, running to the window, realization taking her. She looked out into the horizon of the city, hopelessly trying to identity anything that might look like Anon, but the shadow, the _wraith_ , had taken to the dark.

She rubbed her head. All those things she said to Vaggie previously swam up to her. Angel was in trouble, but Anon? He was stumbling, imbalanced by terror and rage. That was bad. But why all the claw marks? What happened?

Charlie tried to think. Didn’t something happen to demons when they reacted to severe emotional trauma? Anon was nothing but a powder keg sitting on problems he never talked about, and this was a fuse. The result. . .

The result is why they had places like the _Extermination Zone._

Oh _no._

She rushed back downstairs, where the rest of the residents had gathered. The Bois were nursing Hox, while Husk leaned over with a cloth and bottle of alcohol. Vaggie was there, so was Alastor, Niffty, Bax, Crymini, Sarakk, and Sarin.

Vaggie went to Charlie immediately, concern frozen on her face. “Charlie, what’s happening?”

“Valentino,” she said at once. The weight of the name and all that implied was enough to capture everyone’s attention – aside from Sarakk who appeared indifferent.

“Valentino has Angel,” Charlie said to Vaggie.

A radio static sound of gasps filled the air. “That ol’ skin-bug?” said Alastor. “What a needle in the donkey! Oh gracious, and that means our effeminate arachnid is with _Vox_ too, doesn’t it?”

Charlie gave a sad nod.

“. . .uh, where’s the fuckin’ kid?” Husk spoke up. Hox looked over too, hopeful.

Charlie sniffed, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“I’ve let him down,” she continued, “Angel is in trouble and I. . .”

“Now, now,” chimed Alastor with a flick of the hand. “A pity party won’t do us any good now! Hoho, we’re short some star players and the stage feels _empty.”_

“Hey!” Husk piped up. “Anon! Where?”

Charlie side glanced to the ground. “Gone.”

“Fuckin’ _idiot.”_

“He ran off?” Vaggie said, exasperated. “Again?”

Charlie shook her head. “No, no I don’t. . . I don’t know. Something’s wrong. Everything’s _wrong.”_

Footsteps padded toward Charlie. “Miss Magne?”

Sarin stared up to Charlie with her wide, unblinking scarlet eyes, white pupils unmoving. “You say you don’t know where Anon’s gone?”

There was a growl, a clicking of mandibles as Sarakk grumble. “Sarry. . .”

“You know, I’m _very_ good at finding things,” Sarin continued.

“Sarin!”

She glanced back to the massive insectoid. “Oh, come on Ak-Ak, finding people is fun. And we should do something nice for the Hotel, right?”

“No!”

Charlie interjected. “Thank you, erm, Sarin. But I’m not even sure what he’s doing. I think. . . I think he’s relapsing.”

“Oh please!” Baxter suddenly piped up. “Who _cares!?_ Everyone _relapses!_ Strap him into my BRILLIANT machines and force him into detox!”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Charlie.

“Ooo,” cooed Sarin. “But _I do.”_

The rabbit looked back to Sarakk. “See? We should go find him! It would be fascinating!”

The massive locust crossed his enormous arms. _“Why?”_

Sarin didn’t blink.

“Because he’s mutating.”

-*-

Did you know that demons can regress?

_Did you know that demons can regress?_

Regress, demons, they can, they will.

Regress. Regressing. Falling. Backward. Stumbling. In dark. Breaking. Changing. Shifting, growing, moving, sneaking, saying, listening.

Shadows shivering, twitching, convulsing, lightless worms striding across the ground. Arms moving, more arms, arms like an arachnid, many of them, touched with claws. Claws, claws, sharp things, cutting things, ripping things.

Can’t think, can’t move, but also moving, but also thinking. Twisted, shattered, wrong, very wrong, thoughts malignant. Seek dark, seek alley, seek places, seek hiding. Find and found. Found. Regress. Regress. _Regress._

Alley. Is not abandoned. Things. Looking. Wrong things. Only shadow, only wraith, not these things.

“What the fuck is that!?”

What? What is that? What is that. What. What. What is that? That? What is it?

What is it? It’s you. What are you? What are _you? What are you? **What are you?**_

Wrong, it’s all wrong, everything’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it’s too much, it’s too much, it’s wrong. Regressing, falling, regressing. You’re regressing. Thinking is hard. Thinking is needless.

Claws like shadows come out and find the wrong and the eyes and the jaw. Rip and cut and pull and bleed and tear and rend. Alley is quiet now, alley is dark, alley is full of shadows, alley is a shadow. The alley is empty and full of shadows.

Out of the alley stares a thing, it’s tall frame a silhouette carrying several spidery arms. A hissing prosthetic of red, mutant metal juts out from the dark, twisted and dribbling with thick streams of scarlet. Multiple eyes peer through the dark, a dark full of whispers, a dark carrying a creature twisted from sorrow, fear, and rage.

[It’s you.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXbmgEJuJpA)


	10. Just Look Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try to make sense of what's happening to yourself. Angel arrives at Valentino's studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so content warning, there's some fairly dark stuff hinted at in this chapter. I don't think anyone will be surprised, but, you know, it's there.

**Just Look Away**

It’s infested with shadows, this alley. They’re whispering, chattering, quivering. Sticky dribbles of blood trail down stained brick, bodies lying hapless in crumpled piles, unrecognizable, torn asunder as though some foul beast ripped them apart from waist to chest. But no, not a beast. Only the dark. Only the shadow. The whispering, chattering shadows. In the alley’s end, in that pitch of lightless dark, a nest of scarlet eyes stare out. A maw clicks and grinds together, more arachnid now than man. Long limbs stretch from its frame where a writhing cloak of tattered fabric hides its demonic body. An arm of malformed metal stretches out, once a hue of serene brass, now hissing scarlet, fingers warped into talons, the prosthetic mutating with its master.

It's you. Is it? Yes, it is. You and not you. Greater, but lesser. A Lesser Half.

No, it has to be. But how? _How?_ The memories are all muddy now, they’re consumed by feelings, urges. Sorrow, fear, and rage eat at your chest. Everything you buried came to a head, igniting your soul, sending you careening into what all sinners in Pentagram City truly are: demons. You regressed, and it’s taking everything you have to hold onto the fabric of your sanity, lest you become a beast prowling the veins of Hell.

The only kernel of sanity, the one delicate fabric keeping you still _you_ is Angel.

Where? Where is he? Where is your precious spider?

_He’s been kidnapped._

Kidnapped. **Kidnapped.** By who? Valentino. _Valentino._ That name, that title. Angel always called his suit a Valentino, but you had no idea it meant his old _pimp._ You clench your teeth, and the shadows around you seem to explode in whispers only you can hear. How do you fix this? How do you _change_ this? What you can possibly do?

Isn’t it simple? Kill Valentino.

But it’s _not_ that simple, is it? It never is. You’re hardly holding on to _yourself._ Only the memory of Angel is holding _you_ together. Only your love for him is standing against this seemingly infinite tide of rage.

You look at yourself, your hands, or try to. You’re hidden from the soaking neon lights of the inner city, not that it would matter. In your blind fury, you found demons dwelling by a barrel fire. In that blind fury, you tore them apart. Your mechanical prosthetic – now a terrifying set of razor talons – drips with trails of their blood. But _how?_ Where did these limbs come from? Where did these _eyes_ come from? You were still a wrath, dark as death, yet also bearing features like an arachnid.

You clasp your head. A gentle shudder of rain falls, along with the distant roar of thunder. Thinking is difficult, because your instincts tell you to move amongst the dark and find things. Find _prey._ But you manage to resist – for now. In your dizzying thoughts, you manage to recall something. Didn’t Hox mention your link to Angel, in how your souls were bound? And that, because of your binding you drew on the same wellspring of abilities? Summoning things, for instance, what Angel could do. Was this where the limbs came from, then? The extra eyes, the spider-like features? It must’ve been.

Part of it felt eerily good. You were drawing on that strength you shared with Angel, and there was a maelstrom of it. Angel had been around Hell for decades, and from what you understood, demons could gradually grow in strength the longer they existed. Some said it was by killing sinners, others insisted making deals was the path to true power. Given how many of Pentagram City’s Overlords got where they were based on deals, that made sense. Alastor was strong, and he was a trickster.

Now it was your turn. You’d long been the toss-around, the underdog, relying only on stealth and guns and shock. But with all _this?_ What could you do? Tear and rip and take, is what. You were certainly angry enough for it. It’d be so easy to abandon everything and just be _this._ So easy.

But Angel. _Anthony._

You had to get to him, somehow. The problem was the rest of you was losing itself. The eyes, they fed you so much more sensory information than you were ever used to. You could see in ways never before possible. It was terrifying in an amazing sort of way. Was this permanent? Could you ever get back to yourself? You had to believe yes, because even if you wanted to save Angel, he’d never accept you like _this._

You needed a better view. _Up._ Up. Go _up._

You skittered up the alley wall until you reached the derelict building’s rooftop. Your arms, your hands, they made it simple _._ Was this how it was for Angel? To be like a spider? Dammit. Every time you thought of him, your chest exploded in new waves of fury and fear and sorrow. Rage at those who would hurt him, fear that he was in danger, sorrow that he might be in pain. If only you could get your hands on Valentino’s neck. . .

The city stretched out before you with its familiar chaos, pillars coated in a blitz of bright lights. So much. So many shadows. So many places, so many things to steal, so many lives to take. Too much. _Too much._

You crouched on the rooftop, limbs spread around you in bestial manner, cold wisps of strained breathing escaping you. “Val. . en. . tino. .” you rasped. The shadows whispered, long coat quivering, as though hungry for the enemy in your mind.

You needed to get to him. But you also needed help. You could hardly keep yourself together, much less figure out how to get Angel back. And, if your spider hadn’t fought his way to freedom, that was an alarming thought. How strong was Val? How expansive were his resources? Why _couldn’t_ Angel break free?

So what to do now? Go back? No. Not like this. Charlie would no doubt cage you and insist to try her method instead, the “proper channels” approach. You needed something far more vicious, brutal even. A wrecking ball of sorts, though you lacked one.

Was there anyone out in this festering hellscape who might consider trying to aid Angel? Your grim mind briefly recanted Sabbath, but his fate was entirely sealed long ago. Once more, your feverish, angered mind seemed to delight at his fate, the cackling of a demon embracing its wickedness. Who then might help, or at least have some measure of knowledge about Valentino?

In the screaming void of your red tinted vision and agonized thoughts, you recall: a flicker of a memory, timid, but there. So long ago since you’d seen him, a meeting beset with fire and death. But he might’ve been your only hope in finding a way to save Angel, or at the very least, get this form of yours under control.

A thought challenged you. _Would he even bother helping you?_

“He will,” you hissed, to no one but yourself, staring at your prosthetic and flexing the sharp metal fingers. He’ll help you.

 _Arackniss_.

If he refused, you’d do more to him this time than just break his jaw. But, perhaps you wouldn’t need to. They were still family, after all, and perhaps that meant something after all this time. Still, a terrible part of you hoped he might resist so you might _indulge_ these new ravenous desires. You _could._ You could start over now. With Angel’s ability to conjure weaponry seemingly from memory and your enshrouded self, potential felt limitless.

“Grgh, no,” you said through clenched teeth. _No._ You had to get to him. More so, you had to get _this_ under control, get _away_ from it. You can’t stay like this, or it’ll consume you. You can’t let that happen, and you _won’t._ You have to get to Angel.

Devil, just the idea that you can’t go home and see his smiling face is sending shockwaves of furious sorrow through you. You had to fix this.

You’d start with Arackniss.

-*-

**“He’s back!”**

Wine corks popped followed by foamy, alcoholic ejaculate as an uproar of applause filled the air, coupled with pleased faces, confetti, and even an elaborate banner. An entire dining room was set with fancy decorum and complimenting foods, where a gathering of familiar faces clapped at the approaching figures. In the midst of them, standing over many of the demons – studio stuff, was a lean, looming figure, head shaped with the dimensions of a flatscreen television, his static laden face displaying a pleased smirk. Next to him was a smaller but no less manic demoness, her face smiling while her pigtails wobbled as she jumped in place. Vox and Velvet, critical parts to Valentino’s studio empire.

Angel glanced away from the faux applause as Valentino came swaggering in, his arm around Angel’s shoulder, gesturing wide. “You see baby?” he said to the spider. “They all missed you _so much._ This is where you belong, after all.”

“Fuck off,” Angel muttered, low enough Val couldn’t hear him.

As the two approached, an assortment of familiars waved – actresses, strippers, and escorts. “Oh my god, Angel! You’re here!”

“You look great!”

“Love what ya’ did with your hair, girl!”

Angel forced a pained smirk, giving a half-heart finger wiggle to the others. Yeah, he knew many of them. They were some of the other girls Valentino “worked” with, doing adult films. Or, thrown to the streets to turn tricks, depending on how Valentino felt. A while back, Angel thought of them as friends, but he realized after a time they were like him – victims, just trying to survive in Valentino’s studio. All the pomp, makeup, and pleasantry did nothing but hide the scars.

Valentino, in the meantime, grinned. “Haha, ladies and gentlemen, we got him back!”

Another uproar of applause.

“My diamond has returned! Like a second renaissance, things aren’t just going back to the way it used to be! It’ll be _better!_ The city’s been dry for good talent for so long. We’ve had underperformers, and you _know_ who you are.”

The cheers died, discomfort settling over some of the girls.

“But that’s all right. My top star is back to make it all right again. Tonight, we celebrate the comeback of Pentagram City’s biggest porn star, _Angel Dust!”_

Claps returned, if not a little forced. Vox did nothing, waiting for Val’s theatrics to end, while Velvet busied herself thumbing through her Hellphone, now disinterested with the affair. Angel knew this was all show, his guts twisting, wondering what lie ahead. This “welcome back” party, this illusion of happiness and _belonging._ It was part of his strategy, part of Val’s method to ensnare scared or otherwise weak sinners. Find a girl, promise the world, and then tell her to suck dick. Before you knew it, you were trapped.

“Now, please, everyone _drink._ On the house tonight, the _good_ stuff.”

There were squeals of joy from many of the girls. “Holy shit, real wine,” one of them said in a low voice.

“Actual food too!” another said.

Soon, the dining room faded into an ambiance of chatter and eating while Val lead Angel to the others. Angel couldn’t help but notice the leering eyes of guards in the background, all _very_ focused on him. Guess he couldn’t grab a fork and stab Val through the fucking throat.

“Well, that was generous,” Vox said as the two neared, face flickering to a frown. “The _real_ stuff? Haven’t seen you do that in. . . I don’t even remember.”

“He _never_ does!” Velvet piped up, stashing away her phone before ogling Angel. She reached out, poking his shoulder.

“And oh my god it’s really you! Angel!” she said with another series of agitating pokes.

“Knock it off!” Angel said. “Don’t scratch the fuckin’ paint!”

Valentino clenched his shoulder. “Angel, _hush.”_

“At any rate,” Vox said, “Quite a speech. Ya’ know, I got a set all warmed if you want to get this horse moving. Give those sinners a tease of what’s coming, right?”

“No way!” Velvet said. “I have to pick the outfit first!”

Angel realize they were talking about _him_ in a shoot. “I ain’t-”

“Be _quiet,”_ Vox said, silencing him. “We’re talking.”

Angel hissed through clenched teeth. This fucking collar was the only thing saving the three of them from a hurricane of fists and lead.

“Seriously, Val,” Vox went on, completely ignoring Angel. “If you want those prime-time hours, you gotta’ move fast. And I’ve got all these ideas for streaming. Really taking us to the next step. Some of my contacts Up There? Get this, they’re talking _drones._ Porn at all angles. VR!”

Valentino raised a hand. “Enough, Vox. Enough. I _just_ got in, I’ve had a long day.”

“So what?” the television demon said with a shrug. “Hand him over to me, I can direct.”

“ _No._ No one touches my diamond. And, frankly Vox, you couldn’t direct your way out of a goat’s ass. I remember what you did with _Neon Nights,_ half our viewers wrote in about having seizures thanks to you.”

Velvet laughed. “It’s true. And he has _no_ sense of style.”

“Besides,” Vox added, gesturing at Angel like he were a disruptive puppy, “If you haven’t noticed, _he’s_ been off the leash too long. I need to work with him a while.”

Val looked down to the spider. “Break him in. Get him all caught up.”

Vox’s expression flickered to an eye roll. “Great. Delays, delays. And the hell with you both, _Neon Nights_ is a cult hit. It’s bold and stylistically designed to be the way it is.”

“That’s what you call it, huh?” Velvet chided. They all shared a grim chuckle, three rotten souls planning and plotting. Angel hated them, but was powerless to do much, save scowl.

Valentino didn’t stay around long, no doubt eager to have Angel all to himself. He talked a little more, making a show of his presence before leaving the dining hall, keeping the spider entirely contained, at his side at all times. Angel was shushed in the rare instances he might have had a comment, and then they were off to the studio elevator. Val wordlessly thumbed the destination, golden doors opening as they stepped inside – or rather Val _pushed_ Angel into the elevator.

Fuck. This is what it really was. All the memories started coming back, the way Val ignored him, or quieted him, or indirectly treated him like shit. Made him feel lesser, like his opinions or thoughts weren’t valuable, or that he was too dumb to have them. He wanted to vomit.

With an ominous ding, the golden doors slid open, revealing a hallway decorated with erotic portraits and statutes. At the end of it was a large scarlet double-door, leading to the very top of the studio, a circular structure with a wide view of the city below, windows tinted with pink glass. Valentino lead Angel along until they were inside it, the walls plastered with uncomfortably familiar portraits of Angel from his old days, along with elaborate couches, a bar, and panels for security features.

Ultimately, a prison.

Finally, Valentino released Angel, giving off a pleased sigh. “Everything’s back where it should be.”

Angel glared at him, rubbing his arm. “I ain’t fuckin’ doin’ shit for you.”

Val looked at him. He wasn’t smiling. “I’m tired of arguing with you, Angel. Enough is enough. Be happy and grateful for once in your life.”

“Fuck you!”

Val rumbled with a snarl, raising his heart-shaped glasses as he rubbed his eyes. “You know what? The Straps.”

Angel’s eyes widened. His heart went cold, sinking into his stomach, a frightened anxiety overtaking him. He didn’t want to protest or reveal that he was actually afraid, but he was, because _The Straps_ was one of Valentino’s cruel punishments.

“An hour.”

But Angel remembered his husband, his Anon, and he refused to be afraid, if not for both himself and his lover. “Fuck. You.”

Val rolled his eyes. “Two hours, then.” He strode to the wall, pressing the intercom.

“Boys. Can you bring me _The Straps,_ please?”

He glanced back to the spider. “You are really an ungrateful bitch, you know that? Everyone was so happy to see you. And the _first_ thing you do when you get home is argue with me. I hope you know you’re doing this to _yourself.”_

Angel crossed his arms in defiance. “I ain’t afraid of you.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but he wouldn’t given Val the satisfaction, despite what was coming. Once some of Val’s guards entered, they were carrying. . . equipment.

 _The Straps_ was a nasty little thing Val whipped up in his early days to break in new recruits. They were debilitating, robbing control of whoever was bound to them. Angel was roughly pulled aside and bound to a set of rails, each of his limbs – from wrist to ankle – held by a thick, black strap of slim leather. They wrapped tight around his frame, not too dissimilar to bondage gear, although it was a harrowing step away from a gimp suit. The tightness kept him all but paralyzed while his mouth was gagged and the rest of him was stripped down, effectively at the mercy of anyone. In this case, Valentino.

“I think you remember how this goes,” Valentino hissed as the guards finished locking Angel in place, the spider flushing while his eyes narrowed in furious rage.

“I’ll _spare_ you further indignities because I care so much for you, Angel. But maybe after you’ve stayed like that for a couple of hours, you’ll remember the gift of your freedom.”

By “spare,” Valentino meant he wouldn’t shove a nubbed dildo up his ass, or run a train on him, or whatever repulsive things he could think of. For now, it was control, a way to flex his authority over the spider, unconsciously train him to value just moving around, otherwise Val would take it. And Angel knew Val could make it worse, so much worse. From breath control to sexual stimuli, he was more than a filthy grin and scumbag pimp.

Valentino sighed, looking over the quieted Angel, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. But you have to learn. Anyway, can’t have you fussing every goddam second. I need to make a business call.”

He strode away, going to couch as he dialed his Hellphone, leaving Angel to his bound misery. As for the spider, he attempted to strain against _The Straps,_ but they held him in place, easily. His whole body, the thing he was learning to value again, robbed from him, just like the old days. His curves and figure, something he only shared with his husband, now put on display like a common trinket. Fuck. _Fuck._ He didn’t want this. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see Anon again.

Please, baby, _please._ Help.

-*-

A temple of ruination. It wasn’t put back together, not since the last time you saw it. When you did, it was certainly on _violent_ terms, the interior set ablaze and laden with carnage. That might happen again.

Arackniss’ estate looked worse for wear, the exterior gate overgrown with demonic weeds and many of the windows still cracked. There were no guards minding the outside and some of the lights were no longer working. Even from your position atop an adjacent building, your multiple eyes could see the front door was splintered. The Family had fallen apart, then.

Since the Commission’s collapse – thanks wholly to the Better Half – it looked like most of the gang’s wealth had evaporated. Even their father, Henroin, was no doubt desperate after the stunt he pulled at your Honeymoon. Perhaps making an ass of himself around the super wealthy of Hell’s elite got him in a bad place. Whatever the case, it translated to an easy entry. This was, essentially, the one place your breaking mind could recall to find Angel’s brother, otherwise, you’d be prowling the streets for Devil knew how long. At that rate, you might never come back from what you currently were.

What you currently were felt like it was getting worse and better at the same time. Violent urges rushed through you. Your multiple limbs flexed, and potential seemed limitless. What could you do? What could you summon? All you had to do was practice, feed, and do it over and over until you were strong. Maybe unstoppable.

But that meant abandoning Angel.

You rushed down the building’s side with a terrifying animalistic grace. The shadows spoke wherever you went, drawing you to their lightless safety, and you skittered along beyond the estate’s outside gate. Past the overgrown lawn and to the side, through a window. Oddly, no resistance – not that you minded. Made it so easy, even as your mutated prosthetic arm clamped against the hard-exterior brick.

Once inside, it was familiar, but alien. Last time you were here, it was on slightly familiar terms. You were seeing Arackniss, back then, to find your son. Now it was seeing him to save his brother. How would this turn out? Would he even help?

The interior halls were still lit, but quite absent of guards or goons or anything signaling the family had a stroke of power left in them. There was, however, music, a distant ambient wail, something classic, but it lent a ghostly air to the estate’s interior.

You crawled along the manor’s veins, much like the arachnid you appeared as. You scaled the sides, on the ceiling, multiple eyes scanning for anyone, any sign of life. Did you make a mistake? Was it abandoned here? Couldn’t be. But, perhaps there only squatters left? It didn’t appear that way, the place would be in a far worse state if so.

Like a wraith you shifted along to the main entrance, then to the upper level. They were also absent of anyone. Angel’s family had collapsed hard, then, because the last time you two were here it was an entire outfit worth of guards. Now, you’d be lucky to see a demonic mouse taking a shit. Rooms were vacant, some stripped of their belongings, others ransacked, and only a few maintained in a condition one could call livable. But still nothing.

Your desperate mind was getting worse. What would you do if you couldn’t find him? Would you be consigned to this fate, to lose yourself in a state of emotionally born fury and sorrow?

A distant sound caught your attention, indicating otherwise. You skittered towards it, back down the hall and stairway. It was coming from the estate’s dining room, where the music was louder. Light poured from a doorway’s opening and the clatter of silverware meeting dish filled the air. You didn’t hear voices, but you had to assume there was one person left.

You kept to the shadows, your only ally, creeping along the floor and walls until you shivered through the door. A few lights from a chandelier filled the room with warm orange hues, bathing a long, furnished table and the food set along it. Plates were filled with cooked meat and seasoned vegetables, things that looked _edible,_ but you were interested in that, only the figure at the table’s end.

It was him.

Arackniss black frame perched itself in chair, cutting through a slab of seasoned pork, a glass of wine at his side. He was quiet, though every movement he took was meticulous. Importantly, however, he was alone. He glanced up.

He saw, in the room’s corner, was something tall and lean, wrapped in a lightless void of dark with a ragged coat hanging to its legs, writhing about like a foggy midnight. Several scarlet eyes peered out from its shape, accompanied by three long limbs. One was an arm of screaming, hissing scarlet, flanked with talons while features – hard to see – were a mix of hominid and arachnid. He set his fork down, wiping mouth, clearing throat.

“You might as well take the door, there’s not much left.”

Your breath was ragged and cold, and you stepped forward, into the light. However, your shadowy frame consumed it, as though there was nothing that could escape the void of your body.

Arackniss blinked. “Do I know you?”

With all your strength, you forced out the words: _“Help.”_

The spider tilted his head, squinting his multiple eyes, recognizing your voice. “. . .it’s you? _Again?”_

He looked you over. “What the hell is this, then? If you’ve come to kill me, I’m afraid there’s not much value in that. I’m not even worth a hit job these days, haha.”

You weren’t listening, your prosthetic clawing into the table as you leaned. _“Help. Angel. Trouble.”_

Arackniss studied you, gazing at your form, your features, the harshness of your tone. “Ah. Hm. I see.”

He gestured at you. “First time with the true form, is it?”

You didn’t time for this. _“ANGEL!”_

Arackniss tapped his fingers. “Oh, what? He’s in trouble again? So what. That happens all the time.”

_“Val. . . en. . . tino. . .”_

It was taking every measure of control you had not to leap at Arackniss and split him open. But, at the time, Arackniss’ eyes widened.

“Valentino? I. . . see.”

He gave a small shake of the head. “I’m. . . not sure what you want.”

_“Make. . . this. . . stop.”_

Again, Arackniss studied you. “Ah. You want to get back to ‘normal.’ Well, I don’t really like you. But. . . I suppose I prefer being alive than dealing with whatever the hell all _that_ is,” he added, pointing at your body.

He stood. “I _do_ have something for this. Wait there.”

You thought to perhaps stop him or follow him, but there was no need at this point. It didn’t make sense for him to try something, and if he did, he’d regret it. He stood to leave, exiting the diner for a moment, but returned soon after. In his hand, he carried a syringe filled with a clear yellow liquid.

“Exterminator blood,” he said, tapping the syringe. “Can get it on the black market. When synthesized properly it can knock a demon back to their original state. Or kill you.”

He set it on the table. “Between us both, I like those odds.”

You glared at him. What else would you do?

“Look,” he said. “Hopefully it won’t. At least for my brother’s sake. I can’t stand him, but, he doesn’t deserve to be with. . . _him._ So take that and then perhaps we’ll discuss why you _broke into my house,_ among things.”

It was your only sensible option. Longer you stayed this way, the more likely you were to collapse into it. You snatched the syringe, finding a spot on your arm and pressed the needle into the flesh. Once injected, it felt like your veins caught fire, and you screamed.

Your vision blacked.

-*-

“I _am_ sorry about that, Angel.”

Cozy evening lights poured through the tinted glass of Valentino’s penthouse, giving an almost romantic glow to the dinner table. Said table was armed with an assortment of actual mortal food, from seasoned goose to fresh mashed potatoes and cuts of real brussel sprouts. Wine – _real_ wine – sat at the center while the food was served upon fancy porcelain plates. Valentino sat on his side of the furnishing, Angel the opposite, no longer bound to The Straps.

“I _hate_ doing it, but sometimes, you get rowdy. You need to understand, it’s _different_ now. You need to show some gratitude.”

Angel said nothing, mismatched eyes gazing out at the city, feeling like a bird in a cage. So close to freedom, but so far.

“But we’ll get through this. Together.”

Angel snorted, forking at his food, which he left untouched. “Ya’ just don’t get it, huh? I ain’t interested. I don’t do that no more.”

Valentino chuckled. He was in suit tonight, hat set aside, antennae perked. “Do _what?_ Live a life of luxury? Beloved by everyone? Having whatever you want, whenever you want?”

“Be fuckin’ coked up 24/7 and turnin’ tricks for a scumbag like you.”

Val frowned. “You’re being a stupid bitch.”

He chomped some of his food. “You’re a feeler, Angel. An actor. You use your heart, not your head. I’m doing my best to _work_ with you.”

He gestured at the table. “But I can’t if you don’t show me at least a little appreciation.”

Angel laughed, cold and humorless, pushing his fingers into his forehead. “Ya’ don’t listen too good, do ya’ Val?”

“Excuse _me?”_

Angel narrowed his eyes. “Take off this collar, I dare ya’.”

Valentino sighed. “And here I thought we’d have a nice quiet dinner. But, you know what Angel? It’s fine, I’ve been doing some research on the side, and I think it will help get you _straightened out_.”

He raised a finger. “The next words out of your mouth will be _yes Val._ You know why?”

The moth grinned, pulling from his pocket a small device, a control mechanism. He dialed into it, while behind him, the wall shifted and parted, revealing a series of monitors. For a moment, they were blank. Then, they flickered to life.

“You little harlot. I’ve been watching what you’ve posted on social media, and my boys have been keeping tabs on you for a bit, at the _Hotel._ Those _people_ you seem to hang around with, filling you with _ideas._ Lucifer’s lost cause even, ugh. That redemption angle, lord, no wonder you’re acting this way.”

Angel boggled as the screens filled with frozen images, each depicting a face, images of people at the Hotel, or conversely, anyone he knew or cared about, like Cherri.

Val set the remote side, folding his hands, leaning on the table. “I’ll make it very simple for you to understand, hon. My resources go far, you know that. You _belong in the studio._ Remember your place. If you don’t, these _people,_ will suffer. Immensely. Because of you. Not even that upstart Alastor will have a say.”

Angel’s heart raced. He was bluffing. He couldn’t! Could he?

. . .of course he could. His wealth went far. Being an Overlord wasn’t always about individual power, it was about names, connections. The reason they were eating actual Earth food was _because_ of those connections. Angel could deal with Val himself, but his friends? Not them. They didn’t deserve to be in danger because of Angel.

That fucking coward!

Val noticed. “I see you’re getting the fucking picture. You going to be a good boy from now on?”

Angel said nothing, staring.

“Hmph. Oh, and by the way. . . I didn’t forget _him_.”

He touched the remote and all images flashed to someone else. A shadow, a silhouette, a picture of Angel and his husband. Valentino stared at the spider, watching him.

_“Who is he?”_

There was the briefest moment of fear, of cold, undeniable horror. But. . . Angel looked at the image and oddly, he smiled. Even in this prison, this horrible place, seeing a picture of him and his love was enough to put him at ease, like everything would be okay. Even if Anon wasn’t here, he was still _here,_ part of Angel, always, his literal soul mate. Not even Valentino could take that away.

So he looked back and grinned.

“That’s my fuckin’ husband.”

Val’s entire expression collapsed, grin melting into a horrified frown. His throat went hot, almost choking, gagging on the words.

“ _What?_

Angel smirked. “Dat’s right, _Val._ Hitched. He’s better than ya’, didja’ know that? I’m _his._ I’m _his_ spider, not yours. S’far as I’m concerned, I belong to _him_.”

He knew that every word he said was scraping against Valentino, genuinely hurting him, because Val couldn’t _tolerate_ the idea of his favorite toy being in the hands of anyone else, not like this. Angel started to laugh, hugging himself as he wobbled with chuckles. He heard Valentino stand, and a part of him knew what was coming, but at this point, who cared? He was already in deep.

“FUCKING SLUT!” Val screamed. He belted Angel across the face, _hard._ The impact of his fist sent a loud, horrifying clap into the air, causing Angel to yelp and collapse to the ground. At once, the spider hissed, holding his face and wincing, scrambling away.

“You ungrateful BITCH!” Valentino roared, continuing his assault. The mask was off. He grabbed a plate and smashed it across Angel’s head, shards of porcelain cutting him as Angel wailed, tumbling and rolling.

“Fucking asshole!” he said through clenched teeth, blood dripping in pools on the carpet. But still, he grinned.

Val spat. “Hmph. _Good idea.”_

At once, the large moth demon was on him, pinning him to the ground, greedy hand yanking at his pants. A cold terror ripped at Angel now, because he knew what that feeling was, dread recognition returning. He knew this expression, what Val was about to do. He could feel his legs forcefully spread and his chest pressed into the floor while Val held him down, the ugly sound of unzipping suit pants following soon after.

Well. Fuck.

Val leaned into his neck and Angel heard the slimy, grotesque voice ride his equally grotesque breath. **_“You will remember your place.”_**

Angel glanced to the side, seeing the picture of him and his husband the monitors once more before closing his eyes.

_I’m sorry, Anon._

In a horrible way, he knew this would happen sooner or later. Might as well get it over with now. Angel clenched his fists so hard they bled, as an all too familiar pain pushed into him.

[ _Just look away._ ](https://youtu.be/80214E8FuBo)


	11. Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon talks with Arackniss.

**Somebody**

A wrenching gasp.

Piercing cold air invades your lungs as you croak to life, gasping and twitching, your chest spiking with icy pain as you groan, rolling onto your chest. Heavy, aching breaths leave you, dapples of sweat covering your brow and frame, a strange, cold agony overwhelming your sides like you’ve been pulled out of a snowstorm. Your vision is murky, dizzy even, trembling shadows consuming your sight, while a muffled ambiance clouds your hearing. Shivers of gold light paint what you see, but it’s unclear. What the hell just happened?

Arackniss took a bite out of his crisp dinner, promptly wiping mouth and finishing his _Apothic Black,_ glancing down at the writhing silhouette of shadow. He set his silverware aside, folding arms, studying you.

“Well. Congratulations. You didn’t die,” he said, voice low and cold.

Die? Die. . . no. No you didn’t. Or, did you? You didn’t feel like _yourself_ for the past. . . how long? Hours? Days? It was a scarlet blur, drowned in fury and fear and sorrow. You didn’t understand, until the harrowing recollection pierced you like an unrepentant blade: _Angel was in trouble._

“Angel. . .” you coughed, a dripple of black, uh, _something_ leaving your throat as you did. You got to all fours, then slowly pushed yourself up, taking in the surroundings. It was the manor estate. Arackniss’ manor, specifically.

. . .that’s right. It came back now. You were hunting him down, because you needed his help. He was the last connective strand between you and _him,_ Valentino. Charlie and the rest wouldn’t help, you knew that. Couldn’t, even, based on the politics of the underworld or something like that. So, if there was one person left who could do something, it was Angel’s brother. Or, so you hoped.

You weren’t the Lesser Half anymore (for now), so that was a start.

Standing proved difficult. Gone were the mutations from before – the extra limbs, eyes, and your prosthetic had shifted back to its brassy finish. Though whatever that was, that demon of yourself, it was lurking within, the true form all sinners carried. Festering and bubbling over with all your personal trauma and combined with a partition of Angel’s soul, it almost ate you whole. It left a chilling anguish, enough that you stumbled and had to sit in one of the seats across from Arackniss, who regarded you with vague indifference.

“What happened. . .” you managed, voice strained, rubbing your head.

Arackniss didn’t answer at once, pushing aside his dinner, looking you over. “That _is_ the question. Here’s a better one: did it warrant breaking into my estate without so much as a call?”

Was he being serious? You glanced up, staring at him.

“Every time we meet, you always manage to inconvenience me. I’m holding you to that _Exterminator Blood,_ by the way _._ It’s not cheap, and frankly, you _owe_ me.”

He paused, reflecting. Then: “As for what happened. . . you broke into my home. In a regressed, state, apparently.”

At this point, your only concern is getting to Angel, and you’ll do whatever it takes. “Fine,” you manage, strength slowly returning. “Just help me.”

“Hmm,” Arackniss grumbled. “Yes. Help. Interesting word you’ve chosen.”

You’re not in the mood for games. “Angel’s in trouble,” you rasp.

“I’m aware. If what I gathered from that incoherent gurgling when you were a _monstrosity,_ something to do with Valentino, is it?

That _name_ poured a waterfall of rage right back into you. You clenched the table with prosthetic, scraping the wood. _“Yes.”_

Arackniss took in a long breath, leaning back in his seat. His eyes closed, he exhaled, and he shrugged. “. . .then I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”

“What!?”

Arackniss gazed to the wall. “I didn’t want to really believe the name when I heard it, but, fortune never did favor my family. If it’s Valentino, if it’s him, then Anon. . . you might as well forget about Angel.”

That is, to you, unacceptable. “Do you have any idea what you’re fucking saying?” you spit back.

Arackniss gave a single nod. “I do. But, Anon, was it? I don’t know if you can appreciate the _difficulty_ of this situation. You don’t quite understand the kind of power you’re dealing with.”

Even since the events of Abaddon and the Better Half, power isn’t really a concern to you.

“Can this shithead stop bullets?”

“. . .no?”

“Then he’s not powerful.”

Arackniss shook his head. “Not that kind of power. Influence. Val, Vox, they’re overlords. They have connections going back _decades._ Wealth that runs into the deepest veins of this city. They’re political powerhouses, they hold influence down here, _and_ on earth. This goes well beyond Hell, Valentino is a man with _names._ No one person can handle that on their own, the kind of _army_ he can bring down on soemone.”

You won’t be discouraged. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Have you? What, you mean that. . . lunatic from months ago? The lookalike? That’s not the same, Anon. Power isn’t just what a sinner can _do_ , it’s who they have in their pockets, and Val has _deep_ ones. If he’s got my brother again, I. . . I’m sorry, what did you expect?”

Arackniss gestured around him, spreading arms. “Look at my home, my name. It’s in _ruins_. I don’t even know what happened to my father after his little escapade at the gala. I don’t possess the numbers or equipment. I don’t have the _wealth,_ and it’s not like I’m eager to just hand it over to _you.”_

Arackniss rubbed his temple. “I don’t like Anthony. But I don’t want this for him, no. I know Valentino, I know people like him. Our father was one of those types, you know? But despite this, Anon, what could I possibly do?”

You looked at the table. This was wrong, all wrong. Your mind swirled, searching for answers, ideas, a torrent of “fix it” screaming through your mind.

“I’m a desperate man,” you say, most of your strength now returned, staring into the smaller spider. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get Angel back.”

Arackniss gave a bitter chuckle. “You weren’t listening, were you? Val has _resources._ For fuck’s sake, his entire studio is a fortress! There are security systems in place that kill demons just by touching walls. Anon, you’d need nothing sort of a fucking nuclear weapon to crack it open, much less save Anthony.”

He shook his head. “What, was Lucifer’s disappointment too busy? You should be asking her, not me.”

You didn’t move. Your mind reeled, pacing back and forth like an invisible metronome. This all seemed so daunting, so impossible – at least by Arackniss’ description.

“You sound like you know an awful lot about it,” you say. “There a reason for that?”

Arackniss glanced away. “It’s just hearsay.”

“So, you’re bullshitting me?”

“Haha, find out if I’m not and see how well it goes for you.”

At this point, you felt _normal,_ or as normal as you could be. Yet, the mark on your right arm, the link that bound you to Angel, it burned. It _hurt._ Something had happened to your spider, something terrible, because you could feel his pain, and that pain set a fire in your chest, one born on rage and resolution. You weren’t going to be stopped.

“I don’t think you really understand,” you say. “I’m not _asking_ you to help me, I’m _telling_ you.”

Arackniss blinked. “Excuse _you?”_

“You sound like you know the studio a little too well, Arackniss.”

The spider tensed. “Don’t try and threaten me in my home.”

You glared. “Try?” you say, flexing your prosthetic. “I’m here. We’re well past threats.”

“. . .you’re trying to protect yourself, aren’t you?” you continue. You say this, because there’s something oddly deflective about Arackniss and what he’s saying. In fact, it seemed like he was hoping you’d die, get rid of a personal vendetta of his. Now that you were dead set on breaking into Val’s studio, it was as though the spider wanted to do everything in his power to dissuade you. The only reason for that was if he knew something of value.

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish?” he challenged. “It’s suicide.”

You looked him over. “For you, you mean.”

He snorted. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

The picture cleared. “You don’t want this getting back to you, is that it? If Val’s crew found out you helped me, what, they’d come for you? Make you dead, _for good?”_

Arackniss grimaced, but said nothing. You frowned.

“I told you, _bug,”_ you snarled, the heat of rage returning to you. “I’m desperate. My deal is better: help me, so I won’t **_shove this thing up your ass and rip out your fucking stomach.”_**

Your eyes shivered and in for the briefest of moments, the ones from your regressed form appeared again, flashing across your features in a gruesome display of mutation. Your prosthetic hissed, briefly shuddering a shade of deep red, your intentions clear.

You took a breath. “You don’t have to be my enemy, Arackniss.”

He spat. “Being your friend sounds like an inconvenience.”

You stare at him, waiting. He growls. “Fucking hell. You fucking lunatic. Fine. Fine, _I’ll help._ My family. . . well, my father, his goons helped with some of the construction of Val’s studio. We have some of the blueprints. Is that enough for you, you goddamn psychopath? That what you needed to hear?”

In fact, that was plenty. With the skeleton to his studio, you could actually fashion a plan together, have an idea of where you were going, where you planned to strike. So, you stood.

“You won’t regret this,” you say, anger fading, holding out your hand. You recall, in the moment, about demons and strength, that making deals was one such part of it. “You’ll come out of this better.”

You extended your hand. “You’ll help me. _Won’t_ you?”

Arackniss laughed bitterly. “What the fuck am I getting out of this?”

You considered a moment. Then: “Removal of some enemies, sounds like. Less nights looking over your shoulder.”

Again, he snorted. “Sure. If you want to get yourself killed, be my guest. At least I’ll get _that.”_

Arackniss stood and your hands met, and you clenched his with a firm strength. There was no rush of sudden strength or burst of energy, but it was satisfying, to a degree. To bend your enemies to your will, at least in some capacity. It was tempting, this diplomacy, and it spoke to the wickedness within you, that slumbering creature now awoken. One could veer off course quite easily with all this temptation of greater power.

When the handshake broke, Arackniss wiped his palm with a cloth. “Even with blueprints, what exactly do you think you’re gonna do? That place goes on lockdown, you’re fucked. I just want to understand what nonsense you have planned so you understand how thoroughly doomed you are.”

What did he say? You needed nothing short of a nuclear weapon to smash it open?

. . .

You have an idea. A really horrible, terrible idea. But it’s the only one that fits his description.

“I know someone.”

Arackniss stared at you. “And?”

“. . .keep a room free.”

-*-

A dull misery clung to the Happy Hotel, thick in the air. No one could maintain a sense of normalcy, routines thrown into turmoil, given that it had been a week since Anon’s vanishing and Angel’s capture. Charlie, normally perky and bright, was consumed with worry and frustration, constantly trying to get ahold of her mother while scrambling for any resource she might have to get Angel back. To say nothing of what happened to Anon, she was miserable, overworked, and running on little sleep. It bled into everything else, too. The halls were quieter, chatter was less frequent, and everyone carried the terrible, knowing weight: Angel and Anon were gone.

This wasn’t a new thing, exactly. Ever since Anon arrived, he was the source of trouble, to put it mildly. So was Angel, chaos never far behind him. But this was different. _Valentino_ was different. The worst part was, what could they reasonably do?

Hox took another drag of his cig, staring through his room window at the vast expanse of Pentagram City. His mouth was sore, bandaged up and fixed – thanks in part to the Bois. But they couldn’t fix his mind, which was addled with stress. Goddamn Anon. Stupid fool got himself in a fuckload of trouble, or at least, ran off. Yeah, so trouble. And Angel? He didn’t know the spider too well, but he heard rumors about Val. Consider how important he was to Anon, it was enough he hoped Angel was okay. But his guts knew otherwise.

“Baaa?”

A soft bleat caught his attention, though Hox didn’t move. A flutter of wings and Razzle appeared at his side, giving him a concerned glance.

“I’m fine,” Hox said, deflective. “I just need a minute.”

“Baa.”

“I _am_ ,” said Hox, firm, looking at Razzle. “Promise.”

Razzle shook his head, kissing Hox on the cheek. “Baaaaa.”

“I’ll be there soon,” said Hox. “You get some rest first. Alright?”

Razzle sighed, hugging Hox’s arms before fluttering off. Hox didn’t always sleep with the twins, but these days, he needed the company. Frankly, they did too. Everyone was worried. Even if one didn’t care about Angel or Anon, it made Charlie sad, and when clouds covered the sun, nobody felt good.

Fuck, what a rotten sell, this whole thing. Hox reeled through his mind. Did he have _anyone_ he could call a favor in with? Sure, yeah, but _nobody_ would try to put the squeeze on Val, nobody. Angel was trapped, Anon was gone, what a shit sandwich of a situation. He sighed, finishing his cig and snuffing it out in glass ashtray before leaving his room. He needed a drink. It was late, and it was the only way to get sleep around here.

No one was awake, so far as he could tell. Or at least, they weren’t hanging around the Hotel foyer. He strode towards the bar, which was notably absent of Husk, but from what Hox gathered, the cat was drinking _way_ more than usual. Guess he couldn’t blame him. This was a bad time. That translated to Hox having free range of the bar, but honestly all he needed was some bourbon. Something hard, unyielding, and ugly, so he poured himself a shot and downed it fast, huffing as the bitter, fiery liquid seared his chest.

Rain hammered the Hotel exterior, audible through the walls. Lights even flickered, scarlet lightning flashing every so often. A miserable night for a miserable time. He tapped his fingers against the bar, thinking things over. Was there any solution to this? Anything at all? Guess one could try to make a deal Valentino, but at what cost? I mean, fuck, didn’t take a genius to see how valuable Angel Dust was to the studio. To them, he was an asset, and you didn’t just hand that over. Not like Anon would go for that anyway.

Another rumble of thunder, and the lights went out completely this time. Fuckin’ hell. Hox’s vision darkened, and he could hardly make out his hands in front of him.

“Really?” he rasped, glancing around. He downed one more shot before standing, squinting through the dark. “Fuckin’ peachy.”

Guess it was reflective of the mood. Darkness, loss of hope. It was strange how much of an impact Anon and Angel had on everyone. The troublesome two, caught up in affairs well beyond them. Hox always figured Anon might ensnare himself in something bad, but what the fuck now? What would he do?

In the meantime, guess the dark was ushering him to bed anyway. The buzz of his poison was setting in and he didn’t want to feel like shit, so at least he could escape it in bed for a while. But as he did, the dark got. . . darker. What the actual fuck? No, this was all screwy. Darkness was one thing, but it was so bad light from the outside wasn’t even dripping through the Hotel windows. What was all this bullshit? He waded ahead, afraid he might ram his shin into a table edge, grimacing, taking slow steps.

_“Hox.”_

Hox about fell over. His hackles flared and a cold energy took him, as he spun around. His ears perked and he tried to see, recognizing the voice at once. “ANON!?”

He squinted. Nothing but dark and shadows, except. . . two scarlet eyes peered through it, right at Hox.

 _“Listen closely,”_ the voice said. No, that was Anon all right.

“Anon!” Hox sputtered. “You fucking bastard! Get out here so I can smack you across the face, ya’ shit!”

_“I don’t have much time.”_

Hox struggled to get closer. Was he dreaming? “What the fuck is this? Stop hiding! Everyone’s worried! What the hell is going on? Where’d you go!?”

There was a dreadful aura about those eyes, and this dark. Hox didn’t like it. It felt angry, malevolent. The shadows shivered and crawled, as though emanating from, well, Anon, like he was a void where light couldn’t pierce.

_“Listen to me!”_

“Fucking asshole!” Hox challenged. “You’ve got some nuts on you, kid, acting this way!”

The dark quivered, the shadows parted, and a silhouette emerged from it, in front of Hox, multiple eyes staring the Doberman demon down. It was Anon, but wholly different. He had changed, shifted. It was as plain as day, or in this case, night.

“. . .what the fuck. . .?”

Four eyes blinked in unison, much like an arachnid. Anon’s entire frame was a ceaseless penumbra, his coat shivering like poisonous smoke.

“What. . . what happened to you?”

Anon tilted his head. _“Everything.”_

 _“I’m getting Angel back,”_ he continued. _“That’s why I’m here.”_

Hox raised his hand, the other rubbing his head. “Whoa, whoa, slow down kid, hang on, just wait a minute. . .”

He needed to get a sense of things – this was going too fast. “Just, fuckin’ hell, let’s get blondie at least so we can sort this out.”

 _“Charlie can’t help me,”_ Anon said, voice a cold whisper. _“You know that.”_

“Helpin’ sinners has been her whole schtick!”

_“But not getting Angel back.”_

Hox swore again. “Goddammit, Anon, just hang on! If you try some gung-ho shit you’re gonna get killed, for _good.”_

 _“Listen carefully,”_ Anon said, ignoring him. _“I’m here for someone. And I need you to deliver a message when the time comes.”_

“Anon. . .” Hox growled. Fucking hell, what was he even thinking? He was about to make a bad decision. He had shown himself to be a rash actor before, but this was worse. This was a different breed of consequence altogether.

“I ain’t helpin’ you break into Val’s joint,” he said, blunt. “I’m done with that. Just got my life back, ain’t about to lose it again!”

_“I don’t want your help breaking in.”_

Hox looked the silhouette over, trying to get a sense of him, what he was even considering. “Then _what?_ Anon, come on, just take a step back. We can get your guy outta’ there, but not without a plan!”

There was a pause, then something that sounded like it was imitating a chuckle. _“I always have one.”_

“Goddammit, kid.”

The shadow moved, pulling an object free from his coat, a sliver of paper. More accurately, it was an envelope, a sigil marked on it. The sigil of Valentino’s studio. Anon handed it to Hox.

_“Keep this.”_

Hox blinked, looking it over, before taking the envelope with hesitation. “What. . . the hell?”

_“It’s a forgery.”_

Again, Hox blinked. “For what?”

Anon didn’t respond at once, rather shifted his gaze to the stairway. _“You’re right Hox. Getting in without help is suicide. Getting out without help is suicide. So, I’m throwing a fucking wrecking ball.”_

Hox stared at the envelope, unclear, but a sudden fear ran through him. What the hell did that mean? What was he planning? “Anon, _what are you talking about?”_

_“You’ll give it to the locust when it’s time. That’s all you have to do.”_

Fucking excuse him? _The what!?_

Hox boggled, staring at him and the letter. “Anon, what the fuck is this letter!?”

_“Bait.”_

Hox was speechless.

_“I’m a desperate man, Hox.”_

Hox felt like he was holding the code to a WMD, and he dared not even open it. Anon had forged Val’s sigil on the letter, and the contents within related to. . .

“Why are you here, Anon?”

Anon paused. Then: _“I’m taking Sarin. I’m taking her to a different place. I have to make this look like a kidnapping. All we have to do is aim the cannon.”_

Oh, shit, oh _fucking shit,_ he was out of his goddamn mind. Hox understood now, this insanity. There was no goddamn way the bug, that leviathan thing Sarakk would ever help _anyone,_ not unless it somehow involved his squeeze. They spent all their time together, and behind that veil of pleasantness even Hox could see the apocalyptic rage swirling inside the locust. All Sarin did was keep it tempered. But if she was in trouble, shit, that right there was some Old Testament fuckery, biblical Armageddon.

“You thought of at least asking her!?

A bitter chuckle. _“I don’t need her, I need him, and I need him angry. Besides, she’s tried to kill me twice.”_

Hox rubbed his head again. The drink and the dark made him dizzy and he needed to sit down. “Jesus fuck.”

“ _You gonna’ do it?”_

“What if he fuckin’ kills me?”

_“You’ve gotten by so far.”_

“Fuck you.”

Anon sighed, or at least, imitated what sounded like a sigh. _“You’ll be compensated for the risk. Just show him the letter, that’s it.”_

Hox couldn’t imagine what level of compensation was worth _this._ But, fucking hell. It had a chance to work. Seriously, what else did they have in their arsenal? Sarakk was large and angry enough to cause one hell of a distraction. One that might tear Pentagram City a new asshole, sure, but if it was directed at Val’s studio, at the right moment, that’s a diversion that couldn’t be ignored.

Hox gave a hollow laugh. “How you plannin’ on putting out the fires?”

_“Luck.”_

“You’re actually insane.”

_“Probably.”_

Hox grimaced. “Anon. . . even in if this works. . . do you realize what you’re doing? Do you know what making an enemy out of an Overlord means? This ain’t just some bank job.”

_“Why do you think I’m here?”_

Hox looked down, conceding. There weren’t many options on the table. Longer this kept up, more than likely Angel was trapped, for good. Hox didn’t want to imagine what was being done, and hell, what kind of twisted shit Val was telling the spider. Enough drugs, lies, and alcohol would turn even the most loyal person upside down. Anon’s husband, his best friend, was in danger. If Raz and Daz were in trouble, Hox figured he’d try something pretty fucking stupid too.

Another pause. Then: _“I’m already dead without him, Hox. I have to do this.”_

Hox so badly wanted to say there was “another way.” But this was Hell. Second chances didn’t work out the same way Down Here. Anon would never stop until Angel was safe again, or he was dead. If this didn’t pan out, he’d try again, with something even more insane.

“When do I hand this over?” Hox finally said, tone defeated and flat. Anon pulled out a cheap burner phone and gave it to Hox.

_“When I call.”_

Hox took it. When he glanced back towards Anon, the shadows faded. The eyes vanished with the wraith, and his vision returned. Still murky from the drink, but the lights flickered back to life in the foyer, and Hox was alone. Anon was still here, but he was getting one last asset: Sarin.

Suddenly, Hox didn’t feel like sleeping.

-*-

Annie grimaced as she thumbed through her phone, scrolling over a long list of social media photos on _Twatter._ Every one of them sent a shrill spike of pain into her chest. But _why?_ She was fucking over this, right? Over _him?_ And yet, with every picture of their smiling faces, every one of them as a happy, married couple, it still hurt to see. To know that someone else gave him so much joy, to know that she was _really_ on her own now.

Fucking Anon. They got on well enough like poison in blood. He hit him, he hit her back. They were often tweaked out together, or planning some quick job, or raiding a convenience store. Eatin’ fast food with Paulie and Uriah back in the day before things all went to shit. Used to be. . . he was _her_ guy. And now he was a stranger. Now she was someone he used to know.

She swore and marched through the hall towards the massive double-doors, stuffing away any thought of all this. Time to put it behind her, just forget it. When she entered Val’s massive upper suite room, she spied a set of familiar faces. Val was there, talking with Vox, and so was Velvet, tapping away at Hellphone. And then, in the corner, sitting, smoking a cig, was _him._ Angel Dust. His eyes looked watery, his features were pulled into a stoic frown, and his gaze was cast out towards the city through pink-tinted windows. A whirlwind of feelings flooded through her. Hatred, mostly, hatred that fucking she-he took everything from her. Even if Anon was a fucking two-bit shit eating garbage trash-fire who was low, murderous scum. . . he was still the one guy she cared about, at least to some degree.

Now he wanted nothing to do with her, because of Angel. Fucking twat spider. Fucking faggot.

. . .and yet. . .

Some fucked up, bizarre, deep part of her was kinda’ glad. Kinda’ glad Anon was with someone that was taking care of him, making him happy, helping him get better. Because as much as she hated Anon, she also still cared about him, at least a little a bit. Enough that, in the deepest, darkest parts of her soul that she’d never ever admit, she’d want him to be all right.

Of course, that was all dicked to high-heaven now that Angel was back with his pimp, eh?

She strut towards Val, who gave her a distracted side glance. He was busy, but she didn’t rightly care. She wanted all this behind her. It was done. She wanted to forget everything, get away from all this.

“Hey,” she snipped to Valentino, cutting right over whatever the hell Vox was trying to say. “Job’s done.”

Val gave a huff. “In a moment.”

“No,” challenged Annie. “Right _now._ I want my goddamn money.”

Val grumbled and rolled his eyes. “You’re all the _same,_ my god. Fine, fine, I said I’d pay you personally. Debt’s settled.”

He snapped his fingers, and Velvet glanced up. “Huh? Oh, right, the money.” The doll-like demoness jumped from the couch and grabbed a little suitcase before strutting towards Annie.

“Here ya’ go. Checkit if ya’ want.”

Annie snapped it away. “Nah.”

Val made a dismissive gesture. “Good. Now, our business is done. You can leave now.”

Annie was more than happy to. She turned to leave, but her eyes crossed over Angel one more time, who looked deflated. He was hiding anger – she knew that expression all too well, and for some goddamn reason. . . she wanted to know why.

“The hell ya’ gonna do with him, anyway?”

Valentino snorted. “Excuse me? None of your fucking business, girl. You can _leave,_ you’re breathing my air.”

Well, all right, yeah, sure. Who cared? It was just the fucking spider. Just the guy who stole everything from her, including her ex. Who, also, made him happy, who was good for him, who helped him. So what?

. . .why did she actually feel guilty over this?

Fuck.

“Fine.”

She trot out, shutting the door as Vox continued to mumble.

“. . .key to all this. If we can get him working. . .” she heard, as she left the suite, and eventually, the studio.

With cash at her side, the city greeted her with endless potential. A whole new life awaited now, _for real._ Easiest scratch she’d ever made, and all she had to do was forget about everything behind her and move on. Just, take any corner, any street, and go.

And yet. . .

Come the fuck on, girl. Right now, really? Was this time to have any sense of a conscious about _anything?_ Why did this matter, why did she care what happened to Angel!? Well, _she didn’t._ But. Even she knew whatever fate awaited him with Valentino, he didn’t deserve it. Frankly, no one did. Annie was a drug-addled cold-blooded killer, just like her ex. She’d shoot and rob without remorse, just like her ex. And she also loved him, once.

So far as she knew, Angel loved him too. Was that really a crime? Fuck. Had to respect him for game, at least, he technically pulled off the bigger heist: stealing her guy.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe this,” she swore to herself. What, was she gonna’ turn around and go all hero? HELL NO. But, maybe, she could at least do a small ‘right’ before putting it all behind her.

Frankly, she didn’t like Val anyway. Well, she liked him plenty fucking less than she did Angel, and she knew what he did to all those girls and boys in there. It was worth sticking it to him, no matter how small.

There was one person who might lend a hand. Might. Granted, she based her entire plan on their scuffle, but hey, she had a whole fuckload of cash to maybe persuade, yeah?

Annie hailed a cab and signaled towards the East Side, to Cherri Bomb’s turf. All this for a guy she didn’t even have a relationship with anymore.

[Being in love fucking sucked.](https://youtu.be/lN8TtaYMeDk)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's all getting thrown together like a big ol' stew of fuck and holy-shit!
> 
> Also, confounding the equivalent of a WMD in bug form? I see no trouble with that.


	12. One Hour to Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Val and Vox make plans for Angel. You head towards the studio. Hox delivers the forged letter.

**One Hour to Midnight**

“Potential, baby, that’s what the future holds!”

Vox’s static-laden expression shifted to a wide grin – or rather – a wider grin than he usually carried. His arms splayed out in excited gestures as he motioned behind him where a PowerPoint displayed on Val’s suite wall, layered with bullet points of his next “big idea.” All of which involved getting Angel back on stage as soon as possible.

“We move on this _now,_ we’ll _stay_ the biggest game in town. For years. Decades. Hell, maybe _permanently!”_

He squeezed his remote, almost crushing it. “And _then_ I can finally shut that upstart up and get rid of this radio bullshit. Nostalgia, that’s all it is, I tell you. . . not the wave of the future from a visionary like myself.”

Val gave him a bored, disinterested expression while he undid several notches, unfastening bindings. _The Straps_ loosened and Angel Dust fell to the ground, coughing as the ball gag was pulling from his mouth. Val looked at Angel, frowning.

“That was two hours. Care to try a third?”

Angel glared back, fangs clenched, but said nothing. Val snickered. “Good.”

He folded away his heart-shaped glasses and stared back to Vox, who shifted from gleeful to impatient.

“Are you _done!?_ This is important!” said the television Overlord.

Since the spider’s return, he’d been nagging Val about getting the effete arachnid “back to formula,” so to speak, a weeklong endeavor that had him giving a presentation in the suite. Velvet was there too, though she thumbed at her Hellphone while the other two hashed out details. As for Angel, he might as well have been furniture to them.

Valentino snorted. “Considering your entire plan involves Angel Dust, _my_ Angel Dust, then you’ll _wait.”_

Vox gave a hard laugh. “Big Vee, _listen!_ This could change everything! The whole dynamic! A paradigm shift! I mean you’ve seen the numbers, right? Sales are down, audience retention is reduced, and hell, even street money’s takin’ a hit. These younger sinners, they’re too used to modern conventions and all that, so we need to clamp on their short attention spans, _hard!”_

Porn films were one thing, but Vox had a new twist to offer: _livestreaming._

“Look at my points! They’re _perfect!_ Angel is the key to all this. If we get him working. . .”

Val crossed his arms. “It’s _my_ key.”

“I get that, big guy, but imagine. _Tonight_ : the RETURN of Angel Dust! Live watchers from all across the city, united by their desire to fuck him into the ground, yeah? We get some easy studs to run a train, we take donations, and we do up the requests! Naturally they’ll want to see more and more! C’mon, think about it!”

Velvet, ever the chatty wallflower, piped up. “We could even get commentators! Can you imagine! It’s like a race, except, Angel’s getting fucked stupid.”

Vox laughed. “Listen to her! That’s an idea, it is! There’s just potential, Val, and you’d be insane not to see it.”

Angel grimaced as Vox carried on, talking about him like he was meat, a pet. And every phrase and every idea made him feel worse. Not just over the complete disinterest in his own opinion on the affair, but because of the concept as a whole. Fucked on stage for everyone to see? And he had no way to stop it? He didn’t want that. Not because he was scared – he’d done this too long to worry about personal safety. But for Anon, or what Anon might do if he was even aware of it. Something had gone wrong too, he could feel it, the hidden mark on his arm burning like pitch fire. It had been for a week and he feared the worst. This whole shitshow Vox wanted to do might as well have been gasoline on an inferno.

Val rubbed his eyes. “It sounds complicated. And it lacks _my_ direction. Its soulless, it has no art.”

Vox’s screen flickered, annoyed. “Well, fine! If you’re gonna’ be a stubborn ass about it! Why don’t _you_ handle your ‘precious diamond’ if you’re getting so clingy about it. Seriously, wouldn’t _that_ be something? When’s the last time anyone saw you in the buff? That’d draw eyes, just for the spectacle. Big V fuckin’ Hell’s biggest porn star. What a tagline!”

Val grunted. “Hmph.”

“Well. . . decide soon cause uh, we’ve already made the announcement.”

“You did what!?”

Vox imitated a sigh. “Val, I love ya’ baby, but you’re slow on the draw sometimes. We gotta bang this out _tonight._ Hell, I got a scoop with Killjoy later too, because she’s over the goddamn moon to hear Angel’s back in the studio. She’s had it out for Lucifer’s little failure, and you better believe she’ll add some primo airtime just for the opportunity! This is _gold._ ”

Valentino sighed, glancing once at Angel, then at the points on his wall. “. . .suppose we could sell special event pins. Sell some photos. Maybe even show the crowds _The Straps.”_

Vox nodded furiously. “Now you’re getting it!”

“Offer bigger exclusive access. Get more interviews with Angel, at least to certain clients. Private shows, and he wouldn’t have to leave the studio. Charge those idiots a leg and an arm per _minute.”_

“Yes!”

Valentino nodded, disregarding Angel. “You set this up _already,_ you said?”

“Oh sure, we’ve had it going for a while now.”

Val frowned. “I’ll overlook the fact you made plans without me. Consider me not having you not thrown from the building top as my generous repayment.”

He returned his gaze to Angel, who stood, rubbing his arms, trying to hide as much of his nake frame as he could. “I’ll have to get him ready. How long do we have?”

“It’s set for midnight,” Vox said at once. “So, seven hours.”

“Seven!? Devil below. VELVET!”

Velvet squeaked and hopped up at once. “Sir?”

“Clear the schedule, everything. I’ve got to get Angel washed, fed, and pick something out for him to wear. Get some buzzers, too, might make him less rowdy. He’s been, biting.”

“I can fuckin’ hear you!” bellowed Angel. “Ya’ gonna’ fuckin’ ask me if I wanna do this or not!?”

Val ignored him as Velvet scribbled his orders down, before saluting and skipping off.

“It’s work,” Val said to Angel stiffly as Velvet left. “You’re expected to _work._ You don’t get to live here on my generosity alone, I expect you to _do_ something and not just laze around.”

He leaned. “You _will_ be grateful for all I give you. Now, get the fuck up. We need to have you washed.”

Val pointed to Vox. “And _you_ make this happen. No fuck ups.”

The screen-face flickered with laughter. “Val. Baby, _it’s me.”_

“ _I know.”_

-*-

[There is a thing sitting in the dark heart of Pentagram City](https://youtu.be/k7agiqfuQmQ). It’s littered with bright lights and neon sign crowning a grand tower, silently announcing its authority over those looking up to it. Within is a place where legs are accompanied by lace, where flesh is turned to profit. A house of skin, a market of meat. Art to some, profit to others. But it’s also a fortress. It’s a spire where the wealthy come to do in business in safety, overseen by a trifecta of Overlords with deep connections to the ancient powers of Hell. Because Down Here, power isn’t only the self, it’s who you know. Within that spire is enough of this influential currency to give even _Lucifer_ a headache.

It's Valentino’s studio, and tonight, it’s where you’re going.

Even here, you can see it. Its distant, dark finger reaches up over the many other cityscape monoliths, peeking through your shattered window, a defiant spear that mocks you. On a shoddy table is a shoddier television, a dirty screen flickering with commercials. One in particular had your attention:

_TONIGHT: SEE THE ILLUSTRIOUS RETURN OF HELL’S BIGGEST PORN STAR: **ANGEL DUST!** FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER, EXCLUSIVELY LIVESTREAMED TO AUDIENCES EVERYWHERE!_

Images flash between the bold words, those of Angel. Old ones, ones of his days before the Hotel, before you. After them, another sprawl of text:

_REDEMPTION WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR THIS ANGEL!_

A strike at Charlie, no doubt. Funny, that all feels so far and different now.

You’re somewhere you haven’t been for a long, long time. It’s a shitty room, an abandoned little corner of nothing in a terrible part of the city. The walls are cracked and paint-peeled, with old blueprints running over them. A kitchen infested with dead Hellroaches is occupied with empty vials and glasses for developing improvised explosives. The one working light flickers and fills the room with a dead, orange glow.

It's the apartment you “lived” in when you first arrived in Hell. Before the Hotel, before Angel Dust, before _anything,_ this is where you started. And it’s where you were going to _end_ it.

The wall hosts one more blueprint. It’s old too, but just so. It’s the one pried from Arackniss, and on that blueprint is a layout of the studio, or at least when it was in its early construction days. No doubt it’s been modified since then. However, you’ve got a bit of a McGuffin on your side: a dead man’s tunnel. In other words, there’s an old safety passage built into the place. Like a thin neck it leads from the base of the tower to the top, connecting to other ventilation shafts. The tunnel is built where the elevator system is, and like a parasite to a body, that’s where you’re going.

Your body writhes. Your frame has changed. You’re not the “Lesser Half,” but developments have done something to you, for better and worse. All the trauma cracked open your putrid soul and the explosive yolk came leaking out. There’s strength now, but it’s dangerous, because too much carries the lure of falling back into the pit of yourself. Just as well, bound to Angel, you’re boasting his strength too. Even when he’s not with you, he _is_ , and you _will_ use it to find him, you _will_ save him.

Without him, you’re not alive. You’re a Lesser Half, an imitation of a soul, a wandering man without purpose. Angel is your best friend, he’s your lover, the reason you’re still standing. He’s your companion in all this, and you cannot aptly describe the agony of not having him with you, of not being able to protect him. You’ve already lost your son – you’re not losing your husband.

Whatever happens though. . . nothing will be the same after tonight. Either you’ll be dead, or you won’t. There is no going back – the Hotel can’t protect you anymore. The list of enemies you’ll have will be long, assuming you survive.

But if means Angel is okay, then _you’re_ okay. You’ll do this – together. No matter what. You and he always stick. You’ll see it through, you’ll fight Hell if you have to. As long as Angel has your back, everything will be okay. But right now, **_nothing is okay._**

You check the time: six hours to midnight. Maybe you’re a little traditional, but you’re not interested in seeing your husband hate-fucked by a bunch of soulless bodies for profit.

You exit the apartment. The night is abuzz with more conversations than usual. Warm, electric air spills over you with the rolling of ominous clouds while the fading sun shines one last dreadful glow across the horizon. There’s chatter between sinners on the streets concerning the Angel announcement. Guess it’s not surprising – the broadcast is coming from a media Overlord. All it does is pelt you with reminders that you need to fucking _move_.

You check your prosthetic, which seems to be working. No sign it’ll transition into its mutated state, of which you’ve dubbed the _Sinner’s Arm._ It was the key to snatching Sarin – without it, you probably could never have knocked her out in the first place. You wonder if that was Alastor’s long con, since he gave it back to you. Or chance? Then again, was it _ever_ chance with him?

She was boxed up – literally – at Arackniss’ estate. No chance she’d work with you about getting Angel back, and even if so, you needed her “friend” outright fucking pissed. Was that akin to a caveman beating on a nuclear warhead with a stick? Sure. Did the resulting explosion include Valentino? That was the fucking idea. Whether it worked out or not. . . time. It was a matter of time now.

Hailing a cab, a familiar eye peered out at you through the window. “Grghrhghg.”

You paused. “Specks, you motherfucker.”

“Bhbbhg.”

“How do you keep finding me?”

The eye – surrounded by tendrils – shrugged. The door opened and you got it in, where “Specks” gurgled again.

“Gghgh?”

It took you a moment to answer. “. . .it’s not what you think. He doesn’t want to be there.”

“. . .bhbhb?”

Were you really about to open up to this goddamn eyeball? Yeah you were.

“Val stole him, Specks. He abducted him. I’m getting him back. Or, I’m not, and this is the last time you’ll see me.”

You looked to your right. Fucking Christ among the dead. That’s where Angel was sitting when you first met. Fuck.

“Bhghghggh!”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Just get me close to Val’s studio.”

Even specks, the mouthless driver demon, sounded alarmed. That or he was asking you to pay the tab. Regardless, he pressed into the gas and sped towards the deeper heart of Pentagram City, where the affluent and wealthy gathered in higher concentrations, a true pocket of scum and villainy. As the towers ran over the mirrors in a chaotic display of neon lights, some sported enormous flatscreen monitors. Stretched across them were silent depictions of Angel Dust accompanied by a timer. When you reached the studio – or at least were in proximity to it – the countdown was smaller. Five hours to midnight.

You stepped out before Specks gave you one last gurgle. “Glkkgg lkkk,” he said. Or it said? The massive eye had the charity to at least not charge you.

You nod to him. “If I don’t see you again, Specks, thanks for everything.”

As the cab sped off, the discordant noise of a crowd crashed over you. Val’s studio was a towering structure of tinted glass and blasting lights. At its front a pink carpet had been rolled out with numerous sinners gathered in front, flashing photos and yelling for questions. Hung in front of the studio was one more gigantic screen, where this ordeal would be presented live, a little freebie for the numerous eyes of Hell.

You stood amongst them, grimacing internally. To see your spider displayed so. . . lovelessly and callously to the uncaring masses of Pentagram City wasn’t a pain you were eager on experiencing. Looking around, there were _a lot_ of demons here. A lot of meat. This whole thing was going to get messy if your kill switch went off at the right time.

As for time, you needed to get in _now,_ and through the front wasn’t going to happen what with security and witnesses. Spying suited guards, you noted they were mean and ugly things sporting both size and weapons no doubt designed with Exterminator material. So instead of dashing through the entrance, you peeled away from the studio front to see the entry and exiting of different vehicles from an underground parking section. One of such was a garbage truck, going in, and like a creeping shadow you went to it. The nice thing about being a silhouette? Nobody really looked your way, and it allowed you to clamp under the stinking behemoth before it halted at parking checkpoint. Your prosthetic gripped the underside while guards checked it over, though not for long. Afterward, the giant thing roared and moved into the parking lot, where you proceeded to let go, surrounded by the various resting vehicles of wealthy demons.

This was good. According to the blueprints, the safety passage was somewhere around here, marked as a concrete door and a number. By your guess, probably along the wall.

It took you some time to scan through the immense parking lot to find anything resembling this supposed door, but finally, you managed to find something that looked like what it was supposed to be. Though, it was an old steel door with faded gray paint and several chains wrapped over its front, far away from wandering eyes or vehicles. Thin layers of dust caked its front, indicating it hadn’t seen use in in a long while.

No lock. Not a problem, or so you hoped. You twitched and fiddled your prosthetic fingers until the index opened, and from it, a small torch-like flame emitted. Apparently, this goddamn arm was capable of quite a lot of things, only you never bothered to learn about them until recently. Glancing behind you, you checked for any demons, and when it was clear there were none, you went to work cutting the chain links until they loosened and fell to the ground. The process took a while – half an hour to be exact, so you needed to speed the hell up.

You pushed the whining frame of steel open, met with blurry darkness. Peeking through and shoving past the heavy door, you looked through. Then up. A long, _long_ stairway met your gaze, travelling up the building to about mid-level. You say mid-level because that’s where new expansions were added. You’d have to get up these stairs then navigate through either vents or elevator shafts to get to the top, all while staying out of sight.

If ever there was a time you needed to channel “Anon: Master Thief,” it was _right fucking now._

“I’m coming baby,” you say under your breath as you force the steel door shut. You’re engulfed by dark when you do, shadows. But they speak and whisper, and they tell you secrets, and you feel _connected._ Your home is where you aren’t seen, and so long as you’re in the shadows, you’re in control. You are as a wraith, stalking and haunting.

Before you climb, you pull out your burner phone and thumb a text. Once you do, nothing will be the same. You don’t know the consequences of this, you don’t know how far it will go. Fuck, you don’t even know if it can be stopped. You’re launching a missile – the question is, who gets caught in the explosion?

You type in the text and hit send, to Hox.

It simply reads _“BUG.”_

There are four hours remaining as you scale the stairs.

-*-

Angel looked himself over in the mirror one last time. He was pretty tonight, real pretty. Hair done up, glitter gloss on his cheeks, fluff extra, well, fluffy. Expensive perfume accented his lithe frame and he had a fancy dress set out for him. His room, too, was as extravagant as he, littered with expensive furnishings and pictures.

But it was just a fancy prison. He sighed, setting down his eyeliner wand, frowning. The diamond collar around his neck threatened to jolt him with a searing shiver of pain if he did anything Val didn’t like, and lately that was just about everything. It left a cold, queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach, as did what was ahead. But what could he do to stop it, if anything? His fate, so it seemed, was sealed.

All he could do was remain strong. But exactly what good was strength for what was coming? He’d be put on display for the city to see, nothing but meat. Back to the old ways, the bad ways. Was that really what was about to happen? He didn’t want to believe it. All he could do was have faith in the future, and in his husband, that something would happen.

Still. This was hell. Damnation awaited.

He pulled his Hellphone close to him. Well, not _his_ Hellphone, this one was white and gold and had Val’s symbol on it. Not like the pimp would let Angel have access to his friends and social life. Despite this, he turned on the camera function. He touched his neck and remembered what the collar would do if he prompted it – cause pain. Would it kill him if he resisted too much?

He hit record.

“Hey baby,” he said to the one person that mattered to him. “M’sorry. I don’t want dis to t’be the last thing ya’ ever see of me, but, um, I’unno what’s gonna happen. Anon. . . baby. . . I ain’t gonna let em’. I won’t let anybody touch me ever again. I just want ya’ to know dat. That in the end, I’m always yours, so um. Er. H-hah. If ya’ see this, somehow, I probably already did it.”

He tugged at his diamond collar.

“I’d rather be dead then let em’ do anythin’. I’m sorry if I gotta, for takin’ the coward’s way out. But hah, ya’ know. Ugh, fuck, m’bad at dis. Uh. Baby. Anon? I love ya’, so much. Ya’ made me feel like I mattered, and, heh. I’unno. I just love ya’, ya’ stupid cute fucker. I always did.”

He gave a terrible mock shrug and forced a grin, wiping his eyes. “B-better luck next time, r-right?”

He switched it off. Ugh, _fuck._ Hah. He was such a bitch sometimes.

He’d have faith, he’d be strong, but he wasn’t going to play Val’s game. He’d rather be dead. Angel checked the time: two hours to midnight.

-*-

Hox just about threw up when the text appeared. His frame shuddered and cold sweat mattered his fur. He yanked out a cig and went through it one hard puff, hands trembling. Damn. The hell was he so off his ass for about this? All he had to do was hand over a letter. He’d done worse, he’d _seen_ worse. This was nothing, right? Hah, fuck, he’d already been dead and then sorta dead! Hahah!

He puffed out a thick plume of smoke before lighting another, pacing back and forth, looking out the Hotel window. He was in the living quarters. The television was on, but silent, flicking from commercials. There was a breaking news report, too, about the obvious: the “return” of Angel Dust. Charlie and co. had seen it and the response was uh, well, as good as a response would be when you saw your first patient that you deeply cared about potentially being gangraped on live television. Fuckin’, didn’t matter if Angel looked willing, Hox knew what this was. Bad shit.

You know what might’ve been worse? Tinkering with a WMD. He snuffed his cig in ashtray and rolled his necks. Okay big boy, you can do this. Game face: on. Letter: have. Just give it over and explain and uh, shit. Hope that leviathan monstrosity didn’t turn his face into a cavernous puddle.

He gulped. He wasn’t drunk enough for this, not at all. He closed his eyes, trying to ease himself. Think of good thoughts. Think of. . . the Bois. Yeah, the double cuties, in like, lace or something. Think of seeing _them_ after surviving this. . . encounter. He shivered.

_Oh god Anon fuck you so hard fuck you for making me do this fuuuuuuuuuck._

Hox went to find the creature, and big surprise, finding a behemoth of his stature wasn’t difficult. Sarakk was wandering the halls, in the way a giant might try to not break everything it was around just by _existing._ Roughly ten-feet or more of green, spiky carapace met Hox’s gaze as the locust-like Nephilim swiveled his bulging eyes to and fro, antennae wiggling.

“Okay, funny bunny, good job,” he intoned, voice harsh and cold. “Haha, nice, you can hide. You can hide so well I haven’t seen you all moooorning.”

He turned. “And I’m getting woooorieeeeed.”

He saw Hox. “In-In?” Bulging eyes glanced at the Doberman demon. “Oh eugh, no. Meat-dog.”

Hox forced a smile, trying not to piss himself. “Heeeey, uh, guy.”

Sarakk blinked, stared, then waltzed past Hox with large angry thumps.

“Er, uh, wait a minute!”

Sarakk stopped. “Hey, do you mind? I’m in the middle of my favorite game which is _ignore-the-tiny-man-dog-and-find-Sarin.”_

His voice was so cold it shivered the air, and Hox thought about leaving. Just running. Just grabbing the Bois and getting out of here and putting this entire “life” behind him. Fuck, why was he such an amazing friend?

Hox coughed. “Actually, it’s about that.”

The locust groaned. “So many tiny words.”

“It’s about _Sarin.”_

Sarakk froze, then shifted. His entire exomuscular frame swiveled around to face Hox, those wide, unblinking eyes boring into the dog. Ancient eyes, primal eyes, the gaze of a beast from a time long ago. The days of Old Hell, of Nephilim and great heresies and the devil’s rebellion, of when Hell was just a place of sulfur and suffering. Eyes generations old, filled to the brim with the unmistakable energy of _hate._

“Huh?”

Well, Hox thought, guess I’ll just die. He shuffled into his coat pocket and pulled free the forgery.

“Oh, um. S-sorry, you didn’t know? This came in the mail, h-hah.”

Sarakk glanced at the letter. “Sarin is not inside that letter. Where is she?”

Hox rubbed his head, handing over the envelope. _“Meat-dog,”_ continued Sarakk, tone growing notably angrier.

“Give me answers that I like to hear.”

Hox winced. “It’s on the letter. Read it.”

Sarakk growled, his mandibles clicking and grinding together like a massive slaughterhouse in the form of a mouth. _“_ I don’t read, **_Sarin reads for me.”_**

Did that make this easier, or worse? Hox gulped once more and opened the parcel to show the forged content and most importantly, the sigil of Valentino. That at least was something.

“It’s in the letter,” Hox rasped. “Valentino has your girl!”

Hox waited, watching the locust with terrified focus. The massive insectoid froze. Then, his eyes twitched, tiny pupils shivering. “What?”

Hox tapped the letter. “See? The s-sigil? They must’ve nabbed her when you weren’t looking and taken her back and I dunno’ it’s pretty fucked up right ahahahaha. . .”

Sarakk glared at the sigil. “What. Is. A. **_Valentino?”_**

Did the bug really not know? Hox coughed. “You know. . . the. . . pimp?”

The creature made a sound that didn’t seem possible, like a grunt, like he was choking on some kind of hideous matter. His breath hastened, his eyes darkened, and dribbles of some kind of substance leaked from his mandibles. If there was _one_ saving grace to all this, Sarakk wasn’t bright.

**“MY. . . SARIN. . . BUN. . . WHERE. . .”**

Hox had to take a step back, because it was starting to _hurt_ to be around the thing.

Though long gone, Sarakk was still an ancient agent of Abaddon, a twisted Nephilim carrying all the potency of Gold’s old heroes mutated to server the Icon of Annihilation. The primal kernel, the ceaseless, boundless engine driving his near-immortal life force and obscene displays of brutal, genocide-level strength remained the same: hate. Utter and inextinguishable hate, tempered only by the affection and proximity of Sarin, a demon that seemed only capable of understanding him. And now that filter was gone, or so he believed. Worse, he thought she was in _danger._

Anon was driven by the same desperate fear and anger. But _this?_ Sarakk’s carapace even started to crack as spidering veins of white-hot red poured through them, flecks of brutal energy tearing their way into reality.

He leaned, staring straight into Hox. “ **WHERE. . . VALENTINO. . .”**

It was as though a hurricane had learned to speak. Hox flinched and he managed to respond. “Studio, his studio, in the city! Downtown!”

The only sign that the titanic abomination understood was an abrupt and violent sequence of motions that _didn’t_ result in Hox seeing his spine turned into spongy debris. No, rather, Sarakk was there, and then he wasn’t.

Actually, Hox sure he blacked out momentarily, because he next remembered being on his ass, pushed into the wall. Ahead of him was a gigantic wound in the Hotel wall. Sarakk had flung his body through and by extension taken an entire wall with him. There was now a deep hole in the side of the structure. Following this hole was a trail of destruction, as the vanishing figure of Sarakk ripped his way into the streets. Distant explosions were audible, accompanied by craters left from cataclysmic footfalls as Sarakk flew-ran towards the heart of the city.

That didn’t seem right, or sensible. Holy shit, what did he just do?

As debris fell and dust choked the air, a silhouette emerged from the filth, chuckling, static-laden voice cutting through the noise.

“Well now, my work here is done!” chittered Alastor.

Hox, in disbelief, glanced at the Radio Demon. “You. . . you didn’t fucking do anything!”

Alastor chuckled. “Didn’t I?”

Hox forced himself to stand, wobbling, coughing out clouds of soot. “I ain’t got time for your riddles.”

He laughed. “Why, no riddles my charming chum. Pieces were put into place, now look at them go! Oh, I so do love the long game!”

Hox growled. “Think this is funny? You have any idea what just happened!?”

“A grievous inconvenience to a long-time rival, for one,” mused Alastor. “The cards falling _conveniently_ for another.”

Hox, after surviving an encounter with something like the apocalypse wearing skin, was in no mood. “Don’t gimme that master plan shit, would ya.”

Alastor brushed his fingers over chest. “A problem-maker I fancy myself, not a problem solver.”

Hox grumbled. “Yeah, what happens if that fucking thing turns around?”

Alastor was silent. Said silence was broken by the abrupt arrival of Charlie and her horrified entourage.

“OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED!?” she shrieked.

The Radio Demon laughed. “Entertainment!”

-*-

One hour to midnight.

Klespy, longtime janitor of Val Inc. Productions knew this place back and front, so much that he kept an extra batch of supplies on the far side of the building where no one went. Partly because no one knew about it, and also because nobody rightly cared about where you hid the spooge-swipers or cum cleaners so long as you _did_ it. It was nice, though, he got to visit a quiet, private little hall, away from the chaos, cause goddamn, tonight was full of that.

Meetings on every level, a big hullabaloo because Angel Dust was back in the saddle. Pfeh. Never understood what everyone saw in that twig but, hey, preferences. Just meant, though, he’d be fucking busy. That sucked, and not in the good way.

He mosied towards the hall where no one really went, an empty corridor with a vent on top and door on the left. The left door was where he kept his supplies, and. . .

Uh, hang on. Why was the vent grate on the ground?

Klespy squinted. Hackles on his neck rose and he felt cold. Er, okay, really weird that. Must’ve just fallen or something because of a maintenance problem. Whatever, he’d fix that later, he just needed to get his supplies and go.

He took a step.

The lights went out, shuddering and flickering. He froze, consumed by a dark, ceaseless black. Light was eaten, to put it bluntly. At the edge of his sight, at the hallways’ end, he saw a shadow.

Then he saw eyes.

The shadow moved.

You speak out, voice as cold as death.

“What floor is this?”

Klespy, alarmed, hearing the voice from the dark, whimpered. “Please don’t kill me!”

You grow impatient.

_“What floor is this?”_

“S-s-sixty-three!”

“Thanks.”

The darkness evaporated, and Klespy spun. Walking past him was a silhouette of shadow, a wraith shaped like a man.

You leave the hall.

It’s one hour to midnight, and Angel is here.

You’re not leaving without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HE COMIN'


	13. Impact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarakk arrives at the Studio. Angel plans to trap the Overlords.

**Impact**

The guards towered over the extensive sprawl of bodies like a pair of finely-suited monoliths, cig smoke trailing from the lips of one while the other had his arms crossed. Their wide shoulders were like a pair of doors, keeping out the chattel as gawking eyes kept their gazes locked on the massive, towering LED screen. It was a controlled chaos, with Hellphones and cameras and reports from all across Pentagram City here for this fuckhouse hullaballoo. It was kind of surprising, honestly.

“Guess that slut’s a big deal?” one said, exhaling a plume of acrid smoke. “Can’t believe this goddamn turnout.”

The other checked his watch: half-hour to midnight. “The hell, man, where you been?”

The smoking guard shrugged, a frown sagging his piggish features. “Buddy, I was rollin’ fuckers for the Gad, and then I got nicked by that Pentious weirdo, and now I’m here. Ain’t had time for news.”

“News?” the other gawked. “This is Angel Dust, man. Everybody knows that whore.”

“I ain’t into to twinks.”

“It don’t matter, he’s a big deal, his name is everywhere.”

The ex-Gadzooks rolled his beady yellow eyes. “So what?”

“So that answers your question about turnout, don’t it, dumbass?”

The pig snorted and flipped his counterpart off. “Whatever. How long is this supposed to be, anyway?”

His ears flicked, a distant rumble catching his attention briefly, but then quieting. Usual grunts from the innards of the city.

The other guard, a suit with a bull-skull, tapped his watch. “Starts at midnight. Think a bunch of guys run a train on the slut or something. I dunno. I’ve been told it could go for hours.”

“Hours!?”

The front of Valentino’s studio continued to countdown towards the live premiere. Breaking through the chatter of the crowds gathered around the front was another rumbling sound, this time a touch louder.

“Yeah, _hours._ Big V don’t play around. That spider’s gonna be shittin’ jizz after they’re done with him.”

“Haha, hot.”

The ex-gad grabbed his crotched and heaved a sigh. “Hmm. Think we’ll get a turn?”

“You just said you wasn’t into skinny faggots!”

Another shrug. “Hole’s a hole. Hell, I’d love to say I got my dick in that, anyway. Thought Angel was only for like, rich ass playboys?”

The bull-skull snorted. “Good luck with that. Big Val ain’t the sharing type unless it’s on his terms.”

Another rumble, this one more like an explosive groan. Far, far out in the distance, out in the horizon where the road went on forever, a tiny plume of fire was visible, a thin pillar of explosions erupting.

The pig snorted, flicking away his cig and gesturing. “The hell’s all that shit?”

The bull-skull glanced. “I’unno man, the usual shit.”

A squint. More explosions. Closer ones. Sounds of ripping and rending. “Uhhh. . .”

The other guard laughed. “Wow, must be some fuckshow gang war happening. Helluva night to do it, yeah?”

“Yeah, uh. Sure. It’s getting close.”

“Naw, it’s. . .”

He stopped. They _were_ getting closer. Accompanying the violent eruptions were terrible, horrifying noises, like metal getting shredded apart intermixed with the screams of sinners. A tidal wave of pain and flames looked to be approaching, enough that the bull-skull bodyguard straightened, boggling.

He leaned into his neck-com. “Uh, hey, Eyes, can we get some info on sector-N, up out by the studio entrance? And get us some more stiffs. . . might be a brawl, I dunno. . .”

The pig squealed. “Merg!”

Some electric garbles came in response from “Eyes,” the central security nexus inside Val’s studio. “Yeah, I dunno, probably some bullshit, but ya’ never know.”

“MERG!”

Extra responses from the com. ‘Merg’ nodded to himself in acknowledgment. “Yeah, thanks.”

**_“MERG!!!”_ **

Merg glanced. “What, goddammit!? Trying to do. . .”

His head turned. Sailing through the air was a massive eighteen-wheeler, careening towards the studio front like a boulder, its metal body hissing with leaking fuel, directly in way of the crowd, entrance, and the two guards.

[“. . .my job. . .”](https://youtu.be/-V7fe9JCJpA)

The ex-Gadzook frowned as realization washed over him. “Oh, I’ve wasted my life.”

The herculean vehicle battered into the crowd with violent, shaking thumps, splattering wayward sinners caught in its path, colorful guts scattering in the air like gory confetti. The truck bashed into the entrance followed by a metallic hiss, then, plumes of screaming flame. Explosions ensued quickly after, with snakes of smoke and fire spiking out from the now-ruinous vehicle, melting flesh and bone for those unfortunate to be caught in its way. The ground shuddered as the following explosions rumbled like the convulsions of a great beast, death gurgles replacing the once excited chatter of onlookers. Demons ran for cover, and those with Hellphones recorded what they saw. For any surviving television crew, their cameras raced to capture the carnage.

Confusion followed swiftly after. “What the fuck was that?” a sinner shouted.

“Anyone seen my arm?” yelled another.

“DOES ANYONE FUCKING SEE _THAT_!?” bellowed one more.

There, emerging in the distance, its claws rending and breaking asphalt with enraged stops, its charging presence warping metal and shattering glass, knocking aside vehicles, bodies, and anything in its away, approached a beastly shape. Its eyes swirled with a deep, burning scarlet, cracks of red sparking from its frame, the air around it shivering as though scorched, a cacophony of unintelligible words escaping its deathtrap maw, littering its surroundings with an ancient, dead language.

Like a heretical spear, it smashed through the geyser of fire that was the all-consuming explosion at the front, carapace shrugging off the carnage as it emerged through veils of smoke and death. Sarakk was inside Val’s studio.

Within, panic and chaos quickly overtook the main foyer as guards rushed forth and trained their Exterminator weapons at the intruder. Other guests took to the elevators, stairs, or whatever method of escape was available.

One guard, sweat running down his features, only given seconds to react to the threat, squeezed the trigger of his specialized assault rifle. In his sights stood a behemoth, towering over him and the rest of his squad, painted with gore. He’d never seen something quite like it, or felt _this,_ whatever it was. The rounds went off and the bug twisted its attention to him. The guard’s brain only processed the partition of seconds where the thing moved, then observed the Nephilic fist driving itself into his chest as the entirety of his frame was obliterated into fractions of bloody powder.

Sarakk stared down at what used to be a thing in his way, affixing his attention to other _things_ in his way. His mind swirled like a hurricane of purified fury, a fuel tapping back into the deepest recesses of what he was. The same kernel of hatred inflicted on him by the long-gone Abaddon, the curse-gift granting him one resolute power fit for days when Angels and Demons fought for God and the Enemy: he was **_too fucking angry to die._**

This place was a monument to his agony. It took something from him, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that could understand him, and he’d pull it open and peruse its guts until she was safe in his claws.

“SOMEBODY GET FUCKIN’ VAL!”

Sarakk gripped the speaking one by its throat and shunted him so hard against the ceiling the demon exploded in ribbons of red. As more ineffective rounds pelted him, he looked up. Up. He had to go up. Every room, every corridor, every single body, every skull, everywhere, until he found Sarin.

He was briefly interrupted by a long Seraphic polearm which lodged itself firmly into his eye and through his exoskeletal head. He snapped his attention to the offender who froze, realizing his attack had been ineffective.

The Nephilic creature snapped it, drove it straight back into the attacker, and proceeded to impale other assailants like a depraved kebab as he began his way upwards, eviscerating whatever stood in his way.

-*-

Arackniss covered his mouth with palm, gawking at the television screen. The reception was static-y and shaky, panicked reports seeking cover as they struggled to focus on the proceeding explosions and bloodshed. In one moment, all seemed normal. Angel’s “big return” looked to be going off without a hitch. In the next, fire, death, screaming, the usual chaos of Pentagram City cranked to fifteen. He. . . didn’t realize. . .

Did he just make a huge mistake? His eyes glanced towards the container, a small but sizeable see-through cube made for one specific person. Within it, the crumpled unconscious frame of a snow-white rabbit lie within, her form unmoving. She was the thing Anon had brought from before, the “guest.” When Anon brought her, he made two things very clear: DON’T touch her, and that she would be the key to getting someone right and angry. When Arackniss, bored with the whole affair, inquired who, Anon gave him a bleak look.

_“He calls himself Sarakk.”_

Arackniss chewed his nails. He knew Sarakk. He also knew the bug was dangerous. But he didn’t know he was _this_ dangerous.

“T-this is B-Bella Louise from Channel 666 news!” the television bellowed. “W-we’ve just seen Val’s huge comeback party c-completely ruined by an anonymous attack! The whole front section of the studio is in flames!”

A succubus appeared on screen, her hair weathered, features stretched with terror. “W-we don’t yet have details about the a-attacker or motives, but we’re starting off with one really angry fan as the assailant!”

Sarin was precious to the bug, and she was _right here._ What if he found out!?

He almost leapt out of his skin at the sound of a timid mumble. His gaze turned as Sarin groaned to life, weakly pushing up her frame as her weary eyes glanced around.

“. . .mn. . .where. . .”

Deep, unblinking orbs of red bequeathed with white, unforgiving pupils locked onto the spider. She spoke.

“Oh. Hello.”

Sarin wobbled, rubbing her head, noticing she was inside a small cube-shaped prison. She stared at Arackniss, then flicked her eyes to the television screen. “. . .is that my boyfriend?”

Arackniss’ voice caught. “Y-you’re WHAT?”

She looked back to him. “My bugfriend.”

“YOU SAID BOYFRIEND!”

Sarin flushed. “Ohm. Well. We haven’t gone steady _yet. . .”_

Then she squinted, remembering her position. “Am I prison?”

Arackniss hid his eyes, nodding.

“You should let me out.”

“Can’t.”

A pause. Then: “Why?”

Arackniss gnawed on his fingers again. “Because I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

-*-

“Places, everyone, places!”

Angel looked around him. He hadn’t been in the studio for a long, long time, and he spied a variety of familiar sights. From lighting to cameras to stagehands, it was a big hustle as personnel skittered to and fro, making sure the set was right, ensuring the stream was set up correctly, power was on, sound good, etc. Small figures ran to Vox while he directed them, snapping his fingers, standing behind a small wall of monitors which fed in various bits of data like watch count, what was live, what was on screen, and so on.

Valentino was there, rubbing his chin, talking with the row of studs not yet on set, directing them about what they’d do. You know, in a really fucked up way, the whole of it was pretty amazing, an entire collaboration of sinners working together to capture a moment and make “art.” Well, if you considered loveless, brutal fucking “art.” Some decades ago Angel had hopes for more than just a career as someone in adult “film.” Why’d the silver screen always have to include him getting fucked to heaven? Well, it didn’t matter anymore. None of this would, come the "big moment."

Despite how seamless it all worked together, he had a wrench for this machine.

Angel wore a suggestive attire, though nothing too revealing – yet. He tugged at his diamond collar, feeling the threatening sensation of biting pain as he fiddled with it. He took a breath. Once those cameras started and the stream went live, that’d be it. He’d overload the collar, give em a _real_ show. He wouldn’t do this scene, especially not for Val. There was only one person he shared himself with, and wherever he was. . .

Angel smiled. He strolled through his memories for a long while. If tonight was the last of them, he wanted them to be good ones. He thought of his man, the silhouette, his literal shadow. Always listening, always around, always there for him. From the moment Anon literally smacked into his side to the evening they shared to when Anon accidentally confessed his feelings like the adorable idiot he was.

He took a breath. Maybe after all this was done, he’d see Junior. Somehow.

Haha, no, that was only for _good_ souls, not for whores. Angel snickered, wiping his eye, laughing at himself. That was a silly thought, wasn’t it? That wasn’t how Hell worked.

“Are we ready?”

“How are we looking on traffic?”

“Check those screens!"

Angel glanced up, bathed in show lights, sitting on a pink couch as Val emerged, looking him over. The Overlord sneered, showing off his gold tooth.

“You’re about to make history, my little diamond,” he said. “Excited?”

Angel grinned. “Ya’ know I am.”

“Alright!” shouted Vox. “No fuck ups! Everyone, I want a clean, seamless feed, you get me!? I want live updates on our ratings and tracking! Somebody get this trending on Twatter!”

Valentino chuckled. “Your audience is waiting.”

The lights dimmed, focusing on Angel. Well, this was it. He ran his hand over the serpent mark, thinking of Anon one last time and. . .

. . .

A deep, low, dreadful groan filled the room, followed by a quaking, violent series of vibrations as the lights fluttered in panicked flickers, gasps and small yelps accompanying the muffled chaos. Vox gave a quiet shriek – not because of the sound, but because it was impacting his grand idea.

“Calm! Calm! Everyone calm down!” shouted the Overlord, TV-expression shifting to a worried one. He gave a few reassuring hand waves.

“Just a little hiccup, people, let’s not forget why we’re here. We still have live feed?”

A demon minding monitors gave a nervous nod. “Uh, yes, but. . .”

“ _Great._ Val, baby, everything okay over there?”

He gave a hopeful look towards the pimp. Val blinked, looking at the ceiling, but shrugged it off. He made a gesture. “It’s fine. Usual city bullshit. Probably some noise outside.”

Angel, however, wasn’t so sure. There was something dreadfully familiar about all this.

“Alright, get the studs in here, let’s-”

Another flicker of lights followed by a distant boom. It was enough it vibrated the floors enough to cause random objects and equipment to fall, while more screams filled the room.

Val stopped, straightening. “The hell is going on?”

Vox, in a panic, tried to keep things stable. “Nothing! _NOTHING_ is going on! We’re doing this! Everyone get ready to go live!”

The lights went out. 

“FUCK!”

For a moment there was dark save for the lighting of Vox’s monitor head and a few flashlights. Then, red emergency lights sputtered to life, casting an eerie bloody glow on everyone.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” barked Vox, slamming his fist into a desk. “We have a goddamn deadline to meet! Cameras, what are you getting!?”

“. . .uh, nothing.”

“AAAAGH!”

Vox paced back and forth, muttering, his plans going up in flames. Angel, on the other hand, did his best to hide a genuine smile. What the fuck was all this now? This was incredible! Everything had been hobbled, stopped! His chest fluttered. Dare he believe what he wanted to? Dare he hope that someone was coming to get him?

Was it his husband?

Valentino growled. “What are you all gawking for? Someone explain to me what the fuck’s happening?”

A shaky voice echoed from the dim back of the room. “S-sir! It’s an explosion! At the studio entrance?”

Val looked utterly exhausted already. “Excuse _you_?”

They emerged, a small green impish thing, eyes wide with terror, though more from Valentino’s reprimanding eyes. “I-I-I’m sorry sir! T-there was a call!”

“What _call?”_

The demon raised a phone, and from it the electric garbled of agonized screams: “OHGODWHYWON’TANYONEHELPMEAAAAAAA-“

Valentino blinked, smacking the phone away. “Nonsense. Get back to work, would you? I want the power back on, _now.”_

In the meantime, Vox came wobbling over, his electric features drawn with a sad frown. “THIS IS A DISASTER! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE! VAL, MY BIG NIGHT, VAAAAL!”

Val pushed him away. “Shut _up._ You’re acting like a child. It’s a setback, that’s all.”

“But the MIDNIGHT PREMIERE! IT WAS EVERYTHING!”

_“So we’ll do a 1AM premiere.”_

“NOOOO!”

Angel watched them both through the dark. Hate poured back into his chest, but also relief. And hope? It was a weird fucking feeling. He glanced down, at his hands and. . .

Wait, _what?_

For the briefest of moments, they weren’t like his hands usually were. Instead, they were as dark as a lightless shadow, formed and shaped as a silhouette. _Just like Anon._ At first, Angel thought he was hurt, but the longer he studied this strange new happenstance, a tremor of realization wiggled through his thoughts. He was bound to his Anon at the soul, and in a way, they shared it together. Quite literally, sharing the other. Was he. . . getting some of Anon in _him?_ Well, not _that_ way, _this_ way. He didn’t know Anon to have a list of powers, per say, save for his uncanny ability to stand in the dark and not be seen. Was this. . . that?

And just like his man, he had an idea. A plan. He glanced to Val, sneering inwardly. Maybe. . .

There were so many uncertainties right now, too many unknowns. The only thing he was resolute on though was this all ended _tonight,_ and he’d make sure someone was gonna’ get hurt. Preferably Val. Preferably Val dead. But not here, not in the open, not in a place where Val was with people and guards and ways to escape. He needed to lure him somewhere confined. So, he stood, rubbing his arm, dawning the submissive spider persona one more time.

“Ey, Val, uh. . .” he intoned, making sure he kept his tone sounding weak and demure. He looked up to Val, like he was afraid.

Val swiveled and glanced at Angel, regarding him much like an annoying puppy. “Yes, Angel? You need to go back to the couch. This is just a formality.”

Angel tried not to roll his eyes. “Yeah, but, maybe we could try somethin’ else, ya’ know? Like. . .”

Val gave a tired sigh. “Angel.”

“Naw, I mean, what if we like, do a stream in like, yer suite, right? Don’t phones do dat? Live-stream er whatever?”

Val raised a hand. “No. . .” then he thought.

“Yes. _Yes._ Yes, we can make that work. A spot of rough improv, maybe. Vox?”

Vox looked over, his arms crossed. “Wha? But, the set! It’s so dense, every little bit, there’s something going on!”

One more loud, banging rattle caused an enormous, metallic scream to emit through the underbelly of the studio from dozens of floors below. This time, the explosions were harsher, and even the emergency lights flickered, creating an unsettling wave of frightened anxiety throughout the studio. Vox near lost his footing while, for the briefest of moments, Val’s composure fractured.

Vox gave a weak chuckle. “Er, hey, big Val, ya’ know on second thought, there’s something magical about minimalism, h-hah. Less is more, and all that. Let’s go, like, now, right now, _now._ To your suite. _”_

The other Overlord cleared his throat. “Fine, fine. I’ll ring for Velvet.”

Angel did his best to hide a malicious grin. Good, bring the bitch too, the more the fucking merrier. Val straightened, as did Vox, as they pushed through the crowds with Angel following close behind.

“Sir!?” one of the staff called. “What are we supposed to do!?”

Val turned and frowned. “Your _job._ Call the Enforcers if it’s such a problem.”

“But. . .”

“You’re all paid professionals! Fires out, problems solved, power back on, done in the _hour,_ understand?”

There were uncertain mumbles, glances, and unhappy grumbles. Realizing he needed to feed the dogs, Val waved a hand. “Yes, there’s bonus overtime in it. So, get to _work.”_

Like an ocean wave an explosion of happy noises followed and it was like flicking a switch, where every demon went back to work trying to fix the “problem.” While they did, Vox, Valentino, and soon joining Velvet met in a lavish hall with Angel Dust kept close as the chaotic sounds from below continued.

“Hiii Big Vee,” said Velvet in obnoxious cheery mania. “What’s all the scuff?”

Val roped his arm around Angel’s shoulder as the trio waited in front of a tall golden elevator. “I don’t know,” admitted the pimp. “There’s some kind of fight outside. Lessers trying to break in, or something.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Vox added, a gentle tint of fear in his tone. The elevator ‘dinged’ signaling its arrival and Vox nearly jumped out of his suit.

Once inside, the elevator brought the group to the building’s top, the circular tower overlooking both the studio building and most of the city. Where the studio building was a fortress, this room was like a miniaturized home, complete with everything needed to survive for decades, if need be. It operated on a separate power source, so the lights were on once they pushed through the scarlet double-doors. Once within, said doors locked with a hiss as security systems flickered to life, Val rubbing his eyes while Vox gave a defeated sigh. Velvet hopped over to the couch, unperturbed by the chaos.

“What. . .”

Valentino glanced at the pink-tinted windows. He saw smoke – greasy fat snakes of black clouds drifting into the sky. He strode towards the window, realizing, the fire was coming from his studio.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

Vox noticed. “Oh NO! Is that us? Please tell me that’s not us!”

Velvet laughed. “You guys didn’t know? Like, the whole front entrance is on fire. Holy shit, you should see the bodies!”

“Please tell me we don’t have to go to the B location,” Vox said, electric face visualizing dismay.

Val fidgeted. “Why. . . is there a fire?”

Velvet shrugged. “I heard someone chuckled a tanker at the studio.”

“I see.”

He went to a desk, pulled free a remote, and dialed in a command, sealing windows and the entrance to the suite with metal bulwarks. One whole foot of refined Exterminator made to defend the room – any demon that even touched the walls would die.

Once again, he cleared his throat. “Velvet. Call for a ride, would you?”

He turned his attention to Angel. “And Angel, I have a headache. Make us some drinks.”

When the bulwarks sealed shut, Angel grinned. It was like sealing a tomb. “Sure thing,” he said.

-*-

Plan was working. Plan was working a little _too_ well.

You could hear the distant explosions and tearing of metal. Vibrations rattled the vent interior as though cannons were firing in violent unison, the onslaught of battering-ram fists colliding into whatever wretch lie in front of them. You could even make out the muffled, gurgling roars of what was set loose, that thing, Sarakk, as he burrowed his way through the studio. On what floor you didn’t know, nor how far. Enough that you weren’t in his way, but also that you needed to move.

The vent shaft didn’t leave much space available, but it was enough you could shimmy through it. Through grates you observed lights flickering with every violent impact of Sarakk’s movement. The dismal stench of burning interior filled your nostrils, intermixed with the repulsive, greasy aroma of burning demon flesh. So, you kept crawling.

It felt like an eternity, and you lost sense of direction. Were you still going up? On the same floor? It was hard to tell. Around you the darkness whispered, shivering, snickering, tugging you along. You had to get to Angel fast before this all came to a head, but speed was difficult given the circumstances. You needed another way.

It was until you spied a larger room below you that you sensed an opportunity. Underneath you was an enormous room with multiple demons running back and forth, wearing panicked expressions, pointing and shouting. In front of them was a wall of pale monitors, and on those monitors were live feeds of different parts of the studio. Feeds that displayed various things, namely the destruction of entire rooms, bodyguards fighting what was a cloud of rage and carnage, and some that were disabled.

You heard voices. “. . .is Eyes! We’ve lost you on floor 22, 24, and 39! Sec team Red, report goddamit, report!”

“We just lost power on the guest floor!”

“THEY’RE ON FIRE!”

You studied them. This was a security room. And if it was security, you could do more damage here, find Angel faster. You jammed your prosthetic into a grate and ripped it open, slipping through with relative ease.

You could see so much more now. You’d hit a sweet spot between the Lesser and yourself, as though Angel’s soul was swirling through you, making you stronger, as though your proximity to him granted strength. It allowed you to summon a weapon, a Thompson SMG, characteristic of Angel, but “wearing” your complexion.

At your arrival, one of the demons stumbled. “SHIT!”

Others noticed you, gawking. “Ohfuckohshit, this is _Eyes_ , we need backup, we need it now!”

You ignored this. No one was coming, if the monitors were anything to go by. This whole building would soon be a towering inferno.

28 minutes past midnight.

You trained your weapon at one of the demons, pushing the barrel of your summoned weapon into his forehead. “Where’s Angel?”

“W-w-what?”

You growled. You weren’t fucking around. These bastards had him, so you squeezed the trigger and splattered his head full of rounds before turning on the others.

“Where is _ANGEL? Where is ANGEL FUCKING DUST?”_

Eyes stared back at you, confused and terrified. One glanced between you and the monitors, observing how fire and chaos continued, realizing the imminent arrival of death was soon.

“. . . fuck. Fuck this! I don’t get paid enough! Fuck all of it, fuck this place!”

He stepped forward, his attire drenched in sweat. “He’s Val’s suite, but everything is on lockdown! Completely secure.”

You weren’t concerned. “So, shut it off.”

“I can’t, all right! Only thing that can be switched off is his inhibitor collar?”

You blinked. His _what?_ You turned your attention to the speaker while distant vibrations shook the floor. “You’re lying?”

“Why would I lie!?”

You aimed your weapon. “Bad answer.”

“No, no, stop! Listen! Okay, fuck, we can’t shut it off because the system is turned on from the suite, it’s completely separate! But you can get in through a vent leading from here to there! I mean, if you’re that dead set on _dying.”_

One of the others snorted. “I say, let the asshole go. Hey pal, you know Val and Vox are Overlords, right?”

You ignored them, gesturing at the control panels. “You gonna’ do it?”

There was a small chorus of annoyed grumbles. The speaker eyed you, then went to the monitors, dialing in a series of buttons as he accessed the command console for, apparently, Angel’s collar. While he did, you reached into your long coat. From it were retrieved not two, but four explosives, grenades. It wasn’t just Angel’s summoning ability feeding into you, it was appearance. Four arms now, four eyes, and four ways to kill.

When the “Eyes” team saw what you were doing, they scrambled away. “W-what are you doing!?”

“Insurance,” you said. “You should probably leave while you still can.”

Terrified yelps escaped the crowd as they abandoned their stations and quickly made exodus of the security room. As they did, you yanked off the pins and made your escape too, leaving behind a fiery throat of explosions. A strange, black flame consumed the interior, like it was engulfed in shadows. You’d be fascinated by it if you weren’t in such a rush. Underneath you were more tremors as Sarakk continued his rampage, and at this rate he’d bring the whole goddamn building down. Hopefully with Val in it, but first you had to get to Angel.

You de-summoned the Thompson and located the vent the demon from before had indicated. Fucking hell, more of these? Well, it was better than fighting through hordes of security. And the suite wasn’t too far now, just a few floors more. You were so painfully close. Your chest swelled, a terrified excitement taking hold, mixed with rage. You didn’t know what the Overlords were capable of, and all you had on your side was the element of surprise. That was enough, history showed. All the same, the knowledge that Angel was so close drove you forward. You would not leave without him.

Almost there, baby, almost there.

-*-

Vox continued his worried pacing, muttering and thinking aloud as he tried to salvage the absolute catastrophe of the situation. The premiere, oh the premiere! Ruined! Destroyed! How humiliating! His only salvation was streaming _something_ here in the suite with a small Hellphone.

“Okay, if we put a lamp here, and maybe, I can. . . I don’t know, couch there. . . perhaps a pillow. . . Val!”

He swiveled towards the pimp. “Could you please help!?”

Valentino granted him a death glare, swirling his drink and slugging it back. “Vox, for all our sakes, relax. I need time to think. Directing is an art, not like you’d know anything about that.”

“The hell you say!?”

Velvet, snorting, chuckled at the two. “You guys aren’t worried about the actual fire fucking up the studio?”

Val gave a not-so brave scoff. “I have a fire brigade on my payroll. No one’s letting this place burn down.”

Velvet grinned. “I’m not so sure this is just a fire.”

Angel Dust, in the meantime, watched them carefully from behind the bar. They were distracted, annoyed, and best of all, _trapped._ All he had to do was capitalize on it. But how? The collar left him quite powerless, and Val had the remote to the suite’s security systems. He needed to get that before he tried anything.

He smirked. “So, what’re we gonna’ do if nobody comes?”

Vox and Val blinked, looking at him.

“I don’t wanna like, burn t’death or nothin’!” the spider added, feigning concern. “Dat would be horrible.”

“No one’s burning to death,” Val insisted.

Vox wiggled his fingers. “But a chopper is coming, right?”

“Oh no!” said Angel, bringing hands to cheeks in fake horror. “We might choke t’death on smoke! Body smoke! Ya’ know, dat gross shit what come off a burnin’ body?”

Vox’s television face flickered to a repulsed expression. Val, however, glared at the spider. “You need to _shut up.”_

“M’just worried.”

“Well do us all a favor and _stop worrying,_ you dumb bitch.”

Angel only grinned. “Ya’ ain’t scared, is ya’ big Val?”

Val growled. “What did you-”

A thunderous rumble cut through his words, shaking the entire suite, causing glass to fall and portraits to collapse from the wall. So powerful were the vibrations the lights flickered. Vox gasped.

“That’s not supposed to happen!” he said, looking around. “ _We’re not supposed to lose power_!”

Velvet glanced up. “Pfft, we didn’t.”

The lights went out again. “. . .uh.”

Then they came back to life. “H-haha. See?”

At this, Valentino squinted, huffed, and tapped into the security remote again. The sidewall slid open revealing security monitors for his studio, a majority of which were off. Those that were on depicted scenes of carnage, where bodies were strewn about like crimson streamers and fire ate at the building’s infrastructure.

“What. . . is going on. . .” the Overlord murmured. Then, in one frame, some horrid behemoth came screeching into view. In a hallway, squads of guards were firing at it, rounds pelting the creature’s carapace as it roared forward. There was no sound, but Val, Vox, and Velvet all watched as they were quite literally split apart. One was smashed into the side corridor and one was stomped so hard the guard turned into a puddle of entrails, with the impact strong enough it shook the walls.

Angel saw too, and his mismatched eyes widened.

Holy fucking shit, it was that bug! Was that. . . a good thing?

“Velvet,” said Val, a trickle of sweat going down his forehead. “How long till our ride is here?”

“Huh?” she said, blinking. “Oh. Erm. Uh. I think in twenty minutes?”

“Make it ten!”

“Huh?”

Val turned on her and screamed. “MAKE IT TEN FUCKING MINUTES OR I’LL THROW YOU OFF THIS GODDAMN BUILDING!”

Velvet shrank and whimpered, nodding quickly. “Y-yeah, sure, no problem V-Vee.”

Valentino straightened, pulling off his heart-rimmed glasses, rubbing his temples. “Everything is fine,” he said to himself.

Angel couldn’t believe it. He could see it etched on Val’s features, the way his usually cocky grin conceded to a tooth gritting frown, how he clenched his hands and glanced at the pink-tinted windows, eyeing the trails of smoke from his studio.

He wanted so badly to smash his head.

. . .

And then. . . Angel noticed.

His expression froze, and a careful hand went to his neck to touch the collar. It was cold and lifeless. No, that couldn’t be! Was it!? Angel’s fluff chest heaved with excitement as he gave it a cautionary tug. _Nothing._

The collar was off.

He must’ve been lost in thought, because he didn’t hear Val calling his name.

“ANGEL!”

The spider blinked back to reality. “Nn, what? Eh?”

“I said _get over here,_ we’re leaving soon.”

Angel didn’t move. Instead, he sneered. He grinned so hard his own gold tooth flashed, and he wore a face that was positively malicious.

“Heh. _No.”_

Val stared. “What did you just say to me!?”

Another explosion from below, and this time, the lights to the suite went out completely. There was a dark now, an imperceptible shadow where light couldn’t touch. Where, like a soft, warm veil, Angel slipped into it. The shadows, now, were as a second home, and they whispered and chattered and hid him. He was a silhouette now, a shape at the end of the room.

“Angel!” barked Val. “Get out here!”

Val couldn’t see him.

Angel, stayed hidden circling his prey. “Hey Val, guess what?”

Val said nothing.

Instead, Angel briefly peeled out from the dark, his silhouette briefly lit with pink, his markings granting a malicious glow. Like an arachnid stalking food, he appeared behind Velvet and swung his arms around her, dragging her back into the dark as she gave a muffled scream.

Val snapped his attention towards the offending noise. He saw nothing.

“Angel?”

“Ya’ still ain’t guessin’.”

Vox glanced back and forth. “Hey, now, haha, w-what’s going on?”

“ANGEL!”

The spider chuckled in the dark, unseen. “Aww, ya’ ain’t no fun. I was just gonna’ tell ya’. . .”

Again, Angel flashed into view once more, only to drive a blunt object straight into Vox’s television features, sending the enormous Overlord to the ground and cracking his frame. He yelped and went unconscious, display now showing only static.

**“Collar’s off, bitch.”**

Val’s eyes widened, the reality of his situation. In the meantime, he made out a sound, the far yet nearing chortle of a helicopter approaching the studio. As such, he started towards the windows, the exit door, hands raised.

“What do you think you’re fucking doing, Angel?” he spat, trying to locate the spider.

“You’ze bout’ to find out,” Angel threatened from the dark.

Val offered a bitter laugh. “Really? Am I!? What, you think you can hurt me and get away? You think I don’t own half this fucking city!? You think this is a problem!? You, you stupid, ungrateful bitch!”

There was a sinister chuckle. “Yeah, I also woulda’ accepted ya’ beggin fer your life on yer knees.”

Val withdrew a knife with a gold handle and the security remote. “You’re acting like a stupid child, Angel. You belong to ME! I’M the only one that cares about you, you understand? You think this little tantrum means anything!? _I’m as good it gets for you_!”

No response, save for Angel’s laughter.

“You think he cares!?” Val continued, voice growing more and more hoarse. “You think that piece of shit you whored yourself out to gives a goddamn like I do!? You. . .”

Val fidgeted with the remote. He thought he heard the patter and click of footsteps.

“. . .you’re still mine!”

“Ain’t how it works on the food chain,” came Angel’s cold reply.

“What!?”

Nothing. Then, Angel’s voice sounded next to Val’s head. _“Spiders eat moths.”_

The flickered back on.

There was a loud, hard _crack_ as the blunt bat smashed across Val’s head with an unrepentant crash, sending the pimp spiraling into the ground as streams of blood trailed from his mouth like gory ropes. Val dropped the knife and remote, letting off a cry of anguish as he toppled and stumbled, Angel’s frame pouring back into view, staring down at the injured Overlord. Angel’s expression was something between mania and rage.

“YOUBITCH!” Val shrieked as thick blood drained from his injured head. Angel, in the meantime, smashed the remote underneath his boot, having reclaimed his old attire.

“Oops.”

The spider swaggered over the pimp, placing the tip of his bat against Val’s teeth, who growled back in fury. Angel tilted his head, noticing the gold tooth.

“M’gonna take that back, kay?”

Val blinked. “W-what?”

At once, Angel swung the bat again in a harsh, crescent sweep, so hard the blow cracked Val’s teeth and sent many of them flying from his jaw. The one in particular was the gold fang, which now _bent_ out of his mouth, lodged between his gums. Val howled in blistering agony, blood spewing from his mouth as white-hot pain spilled through his face.

Angel cursed. “Fuck. Hang on.”

He bent down, grabbed the gold tooth (at the begging protests of Val) and _ripped it out_. Val responded with blood-curling screams.

Angel ignored him, stepping over the frame, eyeing the tooth curiously. He then stowed it away, glancing down at the crumpled, struggling Overlord, who roared from searing anguish, attempting to stand. Stars filled his sight and blood pooled underneath him in small puddles as Val hacked and coughed.

When Angel stared him down, he coalesced an entourage of automatic weapons and trained them on Val. He paused, staring at the pimp, this person, this entity that had tormented and abused him for so long. How he made him feel small, worthless aside for what his body could do, filling him with drugs and false promises of happiness. What could he say? What words could possibly convey the feels of anger, sadness, and fear spanning decades? How could he make that so crystalline and completely clear to someone like Val in this moment? Would it even process? Would it matter? Val didn't care. So. . .

He couldn’t.

He trained his weapons on Val, who rose his arms out, pleading. “Angel, no, wait, wait,” he begged, voice slurred.

“I’ll change baby, I’ll change!”

Angel smiled, squeezing the tr-

He glanced up. The deep rumble of a fast-approaching helicopter broke his attention, a silhouette closing in on the studio’s top. As he did, Angel’s eyes widened as there was a flicker of lights from the chopper. Gunshots!

“Shit!”

Angel dove to the side and behind cover as a rumbling roar of bullet fire shattered the tinted glass and rained hellfire, hot lead turning the walls into powdery dust. It was enough Angel had no choice but to hide. Val stood, wobbling, as did Vox. Vox grabbed an unconscious Velvet, screaming, as the trio scampered towards the exit door and helipad.

“Goddammit!” Angel swore to himself, huddling in a ball to avoid shrapnel and shattered glass. Fucking hell was gonna get away! That bastard coward!

The chopper was damn close, cutting over the sounds of chaos from the studio’s insides. Eventually, the gunfire stopped, enough that Angel could peek over his cover to see Val and the others fled. The pimp scumbag turned around, saw Angel, and glared, rivers of blood spilling down his chin and onto his coat. An expression of vengeance, of grudges. He’d never let this go, would he?

“COME BACK HERE YA’ FUCKFACE COWARD!” Angel bellowed. Gunfire came in retaliation.

Dammit. It pinned Angel down. If he tried to move, he’d be torn to shreds. He was forced to listen as the helicopter picked up the trio and slowly drifted away, to safety, getting as far from the studio as fast as possible. When it was clear they were no longer firing, Angel jumped from cover and ran towards the now shattered window, the stench of fire and greasy smoke filling his lungs as he witnessed the distancing copter. Fuck! Only one shot!

Angel prepared to summon a rocket launcher, squinting through the smoke, hoping there was enough time to clip this bird’s wings.

A sharp, cracking _BANG_ forced him to do otherwise. At once, he spun, looking at the scarlet double-doors. Another bang. Then another. Massive, heaving collisions followed by powerful vibrations shook the entirety of the suite, intermixed with the unmistakable, gurgling sounds of that leviathan beast, Sarakk.

There was at least three-feet of thick, Exterminator metal blocking off the doors like a bulwark. Sarakk proceeded to dent them. Then, rip them. Then, _pull them apart._ The squealing sound of ripping metal accompanied the groan of lock-mechanisms breaking as the Nephilim clawed his way through the suite defenses, forcing Angel to once again hide.

Holy shitfuck. Angel hid as best as possible, hoping to stay out of sight, because he wasn’t about to put himself between Sarakk and. . . whatever the fuck the bug was after.

After a moment, the bulwark scuttled open and pulled ajar, the hissing, roaring frame of the titanic insectoid crashing through. Bathing his carapace were the strange hues of previous victims, body dribbling with their entrails. Spears and swords and knives were lodged in his torso, a massive spike driven through his eye where the entirety of his frame bore wounds from previous attacks. His frame trembled the air, radiating with biting red sparks, bathing the suite in auras of malice. It stung Angel just to look at him, and he could see Sarakk’s remaining glowed like a hot coal, blinded with rage.

His mandibles clicked with impossible sounds. “ **G̸̫͒̚R̵͖̼͑G̴̡̛̟̉G̴̹̊̽H̸̛̦͔͋Ǧ̷̦̼͘Ḩ̵͚͝H̴̯́̚H̸̙̥̋̄H̸̛̬.̶̭̈́ ̶̠̱͝.̷̝͊̚ͅ ̶̩̲̾.̵̯͠”̴̹͖̆͠**

Angel watched as Sarakk stomped forward, head cracking as he swiveled his gaze, searching.

**Ẁ̸̢̰̿H̸̜̫̕E̸̘͚͛Ȑ̵̬E̵͔̹͘?̵̙̜̐**

His eye proceeded to observe an object, a fleeting helicopter, far in the sky, attempting to escape. He took a step forward. Then another. With great, relentless strength, Sarakk hurled himself through the suite glass like a defiant missile, careening towards the distant helicopter. Angel watched as, like a hawk closing in on a rat, Sarakk’s frame crashed into the vehicle, causing it to immediately erupt and fall haplessly to the streets below.

Angel couldn’t believe it, it happened so fast. He stepped out from hiding, staring in disbelief. It was eerily quiet now, ignoring the chaos on the streets and raging inferno that was the studio. A wind blew through the suite’s interior, warm from the fires. It was over?

He glanced around again, expecting something else to happen. Expecting Valentino to reappear and mock him, or a swarm of guards to rush in the room and put him in _The Straps._ But they didn’t.

Speaking of. . . he went to the tormenting device oft used to discipline, it’s silent lines of black leather reminding him of all he’d been through. It was gonna’ burn now. This whole studio was. Him too, it looked like.

Angel wandered to the windows, staring below. The entire lower section of the building was a fiery wreck now, and if there was someone down there trying to put it out, he couldn’t tell. “Hah,” he chuckled bitterly. “Always wanted t’go out flamin.”

A clatter of metal caught his attention. Angel swiveled. He looked to see a grate from the suite’s vent had been knocked aside, landing to the floor with a timid _thunk._ He didn’t understand. Place was falling apart fast, huh?

And then a sequence of events occurred he didn’t quite process. It _looked_ like a shape came falling out from the vent. It _looked_ like a shadow, a silhouette. It _looked_ like someone he knew. It _looked_ like his husband. His Anon. But that couldn’t be. That couldn’t be! That was impossible! How could Anon be here now, right there!? Within reach, so close? How!? It couldn’t be, it just absolutely could not.

The figure straightened, and a face stared out at him. “Angel?”

It was.

Angel nearly buckled. His mismatched eyes went as wide as saucers. No, no fucking way. He shook his head.

“A-Anon?”

He felt hot tears rush down his cheeks. He watched as the shape moved, the shape _ran,_ rushing to him, crashing into him, sweeping his arms around the spider, embracing and holding and kissing, consuming him in the deep embrace of a shadow, filling Angel with his presence, his love, his resolution, his loyalty. It wasn’t possible, yet it was.

“Ohmygod!” Angel slurred. “Ohmyfuckinggodohmygod!”

Angel clasped around Anon, tight, four arms locking him in an embrace. Yes, it was real. The familiar scent, the sensation of clothes, the hard clench of prosthetic, he was all there.

And he felt the words touch him like a lover’s prayer: “I’m here baby, I’m here!”

The spider broke out in joyous sobs, shuddering. He didn’t know how to feel. Happy, yes, overwhelmingly so. Mad maybe, mad because Anon hadn’t found him, but then mad at himself because of course he hadn’t, how could he, and sad that they had been apart so long and happy again and and and. . .

Anon looked him in the face. “I’m sorry Angel, I’m so sorry!”

Their lips pressed together, needy and hopeful, drowning in the strength of each other. When they broke, Angel wiped his runny face, laughing in tears, holding Anon like he might vanish if he didn’t grip tightly enough.

“You’re here. . .” Angel croaked, voice weak. “I was scared. . .”

Anon hugged him again. It was all he could do. No word could suffice to make up for this, to truly encompass the jubilation of them reuniting.

-*-

Angel was beautiful to you. That was all you could think of, even as pillars of flame flowed behind him, indicating the fires were nearing the top of the studio. Your soul wept, your mourning palpable. So long, oh god so fucking long since you even got to touch him, caress him, make him feel like he was the most important thing in the whole fucking city. It had hurt so unbelievably much, like you were torn apart, day by day, weakening the longer you and he were distant.

The build was collapsing, people had died, you didn’t know if you’d get out. But your spider was in your arms, and everything would be okay.

Angel kissed you and wiped his eyes. “W-what took ya’?”

You gave him a strained smile. “I missed you so much.”

A fiery piece of ceiling fell to the carpet, setting the suite aflame. Fuck. Angel noticed too.

“Heh. So, genius, t’fuck do we do now? I assume ya’ got buggy all fuck mad, heh.”

You looked around. The fire was overtaking everything. “Shit!”

You grabbed Angel by the hand and lead him outside, on the helipad. Out here, you could see how the building was a flaming inferno, chaotic noises audible from below. You. . . couldn’t jump. Neither of you could.

Angel gave you a resigned look. “Ya’ didn’t think that far, did ya’, dumbass?”

“I. . .”

He chuckled. “Didn’t think so.”

“No!” you said. “Fuck, wait. . . goddammit. . . I can fix this!”

Angel shook his head. “Oh, Anon, c’mon now, s’okay. Look at me.”

He cupped your cheeks, forcing your attention to him. “Just look at me, all right? Only me.”

“Angel. . .”

He held you close with spare arms. “Relax, pockets.”

The fire devoured the suite and ate at the edge of the helipad, sealing you both away. There was essentially no other option, save for leaping to an uncertain demise. You thought about Angel’s webs, but the fire would burn them faster before they’d catch.

“. . .I can’t believe this.”

Angel laughed. “I can.”

Funny, in a horrifying sort of way. You were held by angel with no wings.

. . .

. . .

. . .

_“HEY, ASSHOLES!”_

The dull electric grumble of an approaching vessel broke your attention, distorting the air with whirring motors. Both you and Angel swerved to see the nearing of some great egg-shaped machine. No, not an egg, a zeppelin! A zeppelin bearing the colors of black and gold, the unmistakable hues of one Sir Pentious.

Except. . . it wasn’t his voice.

“What da’ fuck!?” Angel said.

Was that. . .?

_“You two dumbasses look like ya’ don’t want to burn to death today.”_

**“Cherri!”**

Indeed, Cherri Bomb’s harsh tone broke out from the vehicle’s intercom, washing over you with her voice. The zeppelin approached the edge of the helipad, a side-door hissing open to reveal the notorious cyclopean demonette. She leaned on the opening, giving you both an unimpressed look.

You were both speechless, while Cherri blinked. “Well!? Get the fuck on you gawking idiots!”

Didn’t need a second warning. You and Angel rushed across and jumped onto the zeppelin as the fires finally consumed the pad, turning the entirety of Valentino’s studio into a monolith of bright, scorching orange. The zeppelin door sealed, and you and Angel were tucked away in the belly of Pentious’ massive flying machine.

“Nice job, shit-twizzler,” balked Cherri, gesturing at one Sir Pentious, who looked utterly agitated. Behind him was a mountain of explosives, his Bois wobbling around in mindless patterns.

“Enjoy thisss moment now, harlot!” he called down. “Becaussse when I get free. . .”

Cherri waved him off. “Stuff it up your double dicks, Penny.”

She returned to your attention to you both as the zeppelin drifted from the building. She crossed her arms, frowning.

“You’re welcome, dipshits.”

You had about a thousand questions running through your head. Angel stared at Cherri, as clueless as you.

“Cherri. . .” Angel started, reaching over. “Ya’. . . ya’ saved us!”

Her back was to him. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Angel glanced at you. His eyes were watery, but pleading. He needed to say something to her, and this was the reason he left the Hotel in the first place. Funny how that worked out. As for you, between near death, the whereabouts of Sarakk, getting your husband back, the state of the Hotel, the location of Valentino, what Sarin was doing, and a hundred other things. . . well. You needed time to process. Just a moment.

You looked out the zeppelin’s main window, eyeing the utter devastation caused by the bug. Then, remembering, you quickly pulled out your burner phone, only to see it was. . . burned. You couldn’t get in touch with him.

Everything felt right and wrong at the same time. Angel went to Cherri, clearing his throat, rubbing his arms, probably at a loss as what to say. What could he, exactly?

What, also, were you going to tell Charlie?

This was different. This wasn’t like old times. Things would change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, friends, to the end of this climactic chapter. By doing so, we are now in the final phases of this book. Though I expect it to be shorter than previous entries, there's still some things to wrap up. Questions need answers, problems need resolutions. Thank you so much for reading all this way.
> 
> We're almost finished with the Theif-Spider trilogy.


	14. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Angel escape as the dust settles.

**Fallout**

_“Good evening, I’m Tom Trench!”_

_“And I’m Katie Killjoy!”_

_“Absolutely pandemonium tonight in Pentagram City as the studio’s priceless premiere of one porn actor Angel Dust was cut short by, well. . . ah, let’s check the notes here. . . well damnation down under, we have no idea!”_

_“That’s right Tom! The carnival of chaos was caused by what’s been described as an angry fucking monster and oh my god help me my head’s inside my stomach!”_

_“More updates after the break!”_

-*-

Angel looked down at the city as the zeppelin hummed underneath his boots. Snakes of smoke curled into the sky, speckled with Exterminator residue. Val’s studio was a pillar of burning light visible from everywhere in the city, clouding the night sky with its burning remains. Social media and news outlets alike were abuzz with disbelief – that Valentino’s biggest studio had come under attack, laying it asunder. It was hard to know which was harder to accept: that there was something out there capable of ransacking one of the toughest places in the city, or that the studio was aflame with Val nowhere to be seen.

Kinda’ made Angel want to sing.

He fiddled with the bloody gold tooth in his extra hand, a memoir of what occurred tonight. About a dozen differing feelings were rushing through him right now, so it was hard to get a sense of where he was, so to speak. What it all meant. For now, though. . .

He glanced to his right. Cherri was looking out the tinted window too, arms crossed, a dismissive expression pulling at her features. She’d saved his ass _and_ his husband but didn’t look all too pleased. Considering their last conversation, he didn’t blame her. Yet despite those words, here she was, having taken Penny hostage too, apparently, all to absolve him of a horrible end.

He got closer, next to her, as they both gazed at the horizon of destruction.

“You alright?” she said to him, not looking his way.

Angel rubbed his arm, sighed, and nodded. “Heh. Eh, ya’ know, I’ve had better days.”

“You made a nice fire, at least.”

Angel gave a weak chuckle. “Can’t take credit for dat one.”

“Shoulda’ jumped.”

The spider managed a harder laugh. “What are ya’ nuts? Whole shitsack was loaded with dat fancy Exterminator junk. Woulda’ burned up like a holy fire, not t’mention all the jizz, hah.”

He chanced a look her way. Her gaze was clearly avoiding his, pale white skin bathed in the glow of the city fire. Hmm.

“Damn, ya’ saved my ass again. How’d ya’ even know I was in trouble?”

She snorted. “I have a phone, Angie. But. . . somebody tipped me off, too. About what happened to you.”

Angel blinked. “Huh?”

She shrugged. “Some bitch I’ve never seen told me you got nabbed. Not that I could do shit about it. . . but then I saw the news and fire and well, here I am.”

She didn’t soften. “You’re _welcome_.”

Angel Dust didn’t know who could possibly have tipped Cherri off, and that was a question for another time. Not important right now. He was alive and so was Anon.

“Yeah, thanks!” said Angel, attempting a cheery tone. “Dunno’ bout you’ze, but dyin’ wasn’t on my list of things t’do tonight, heheh. . .”

She didn’t laugh.

“Heh. Erm. Yeah. Uh, look, Cherri. . .”

She raised a hand, sighing. “Angel, stop. Whatever is it, I don’t wanna’ hear it.”

“Cherri! C’mon, don’t be like dat!”

Finally, she looked at him, narrowing her eye. “I _don’t. . .”_

Angel frowned. “At least lemme’ say I’m sorry! Please?”

Cherri focused her attention, leaning. “ _You_ want to apologize?”

Angel grimaced, flinching. “I. . . deserve that. N’whatever else ya’ have for me.”

Angel rubbed his arms, looked over to Anon, then back to her. “Look. . . Cherri, I. . . I _am_ sorry. Fer all of it. I ain’t treated ya’ fair for, fuck, the last year. I didn’t mean t’do that to ya, I didn’t mean to push you’ze away, or treat ya’ like a stranger.”

He ran a hand through his hair tuft. “I’m a dumbass, I’dunno how t’handle this stuff. I got all lost in my guy and everything was so good. And I didn’t realize. . . I was pushin’ you out. Wasn’t even thinkin’. Like, I’ve had a lot of studs in m’life before who treated me okay, and then they tossed me out like garbage. And no matter what,” he looked at her, smiling, “you were always there fer me.”

Cherri didn’t look convinced.

“I never meant none of it, what I said at yer junkhouse,” Angel went on, “’bout what I said n’shit. I was just all fucked and I took it out on you. But, just cause’ I wasn’t in a great place didn’t mean I shoulda’ taken it out on you.”

Angel rubbed his eyes, fighting back a small rush of tears. “Heh. I still love ya’, Cherri. Dat’s never changed. You’ze my bestie. I owe ya’, and, I hope you can forgive me. But, I wouldn’t blame ya’ if didn’t wanna’ ever talk t’me again.”

He laughed again, humorless. “S’funny. Dis’ is all I was tryin’ t’do. Took burnin’ down Val’s studio just t’apologize.”

Cherri’s hard expression softened. Though her arms were still crossed, they sagged, and she leaned her back on the glass.

“I won’t lie, Angie, it really hurt.”

He nodded. “I know, I know. I just . . I lost my kid and I wasn’t copin’ well and. . .”

“That’s what I mean,” she interjected, “I understand all that. I get it. I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I just wish you kept me, ya’ know, in the loop? I could’ve helped. I wanted to. I just felt like all the years we were together, you were forgetting about it, and ya’ didn’t even seem to care.”

She gestured with a hand. “Suddenly some new asshole is in your life and it’s all great and good and forget everything else, right?

Angel glanced away. He couldn’t really argue against that.

She sniffed. “I wasn’t ready to be alone, that’s all. I feel like, after everything, I got a right to feel that way.”

Angel made a small pained noise and wrapped his arms around her. “Awh, Cherri! No, no, no! Ya’ ain’t alone! M’still your bestie!”

He squeezed her tight, though she didn’t return it, not yet. He looked at her, holding her by the shoulders, wearing a sad smile.

“I hope you’ze is mine still too.”

Cherri, studying him, finally conceded and offered a deflated sigh, hugging him. “. . .yeah. I guess so.”

They briefly embraced before she continued. “I should’ve been more understanding, anyway.”

“S’okay, Cherri.”

“No it isn’t,” she shot back. “it isn’t at all. You’re. . . happy now. Really happy. I should’ve been more supportive and. . . and. . . god, Angel, I didn’t know, about the kid. . .”

Angel saddened. “I don’t blame ya’. But it hurt bad t’lose em’. He was my little guy, and I was startin’ to build a family.”

“Haha, shit,” Cherri swore, smiling but tearing up, a stream running down her cheek. “I was an aunt.”

Angel returned it, happy, but a trickle of tears matching hers. “You’da liked em’ too. He was a little bastard, hehe.”

She hugged him this time, hard. “I’m sorry Angel.”

He returned it. “Me too.”

-*-

You sat on the cold steps of Pentious zeppelin, Egg Bois running around in random patterns while the serpent steered his mighty vehicle, expression annoyed and beaten. He was, apparently, hostage at the moment, what with the numerous scarlet-red explosives behind him.

“Rough day, huh Penny?” you called up to him. He glanced at you, hissing.

“Don’t get cute with me you rambunctious reprobate! If I wasssn’t under that harlot’s boot the sssituation would be _very_ different!”

You gave a single chuckle. “Thanks for saving us.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, broken only by the gentle hum of his machine. Then: “You’re welcome.”

In the meantime, you watched Angel talk with Cherri. It was hard to keep your eye off him. It almost seemed like a dream, like he were a phantom. You were relieved in ways you couldn’t properly describe to have him here, safe and okay. Or, mostly okay. You don’t know what happened to him in the studio. Parts of you were frightened to ask, because the answers wouldn’t be good. But he was alive, and smiling, and making up with his best friend, and _there._

As for everything else, the fallout was settling in your mind. The reality. This was different, now. Setting fire to the studio of an Overlord wasn’t some small act. It wasn’t putting down an existential maniac, it was fucking with a guy who had _connections._ In the span of a night, your list of enemies just exploded. And speaking of, the Hotel?

 _What about it_ , a part of you asked.

 _You know_ , the other part said.

This was it. It was done.

Living at the Hotel was no longer an option. Even if Charlie was forgiving – though she had every right not to be – in your mind, bringing all the problems to her doorstep wasn’t an option anymore. You had done so much damage, even if you never meant to. She’d done so much, but it was time to move on. You wanted to build a life with Angel, even if was in Hell, but you couldn’t do that if you stayed at the Hotel.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the pattern of footsteps. Angel approached with Cherri at his side. He wore a smile, gesturing between you and her.

Though you were tired, you stood. “Anon, don’t think ya’ ever been properly introduced to m’girl here.”

They had made up, it looked like. Good. You held out your hand. “Heard a lot about you.”

“Me too, unfortunately,” she jabbed back. You shook.

“I owe you for this one,” you say, earnest. “I mean it. You saved us.”

She shrugged. “Pfeh. That’s what friends do.”

Angel grinned as you both appeared to build a bridge – if said bridge was a series of logs held together by string.

“I’ll also, _as a friend,_ ignore that you stole my shit. Kay? _Friend?”_

You give a weak smile and nod. “Fair enough.”

“Excuuuussse me!” hissed Pentious, interjecting, yanking the levers to his zeppelin.

“If you three trampsss are finished with teatime, where the blazesss am I taking you!?”

Cherri glared. “Hey! Pipe down, shit-twizzler! Or I’ll jam a pack of m83’s up your asshole!”

Bickering aside, that _was_ the question. You looked at your spider, and gave him a sobering look, a different kind of look. There was a sadness to it.

“We’ve gotta’ talk to Charlie,” you say, more to Angel than anyone. He blinks. He realizes you have something on your mind, that things are different.

“So, the Hotel.”

You don’t say “home.”

-*-

A squeal of tires followed by the ear-splitting brake of engine cut over the distant chaos of the burning building. A small black vehilcle swung into view, keeping a safe distance from the pandemonium, the driver sweating beads, matting his suit, his scarlet eyes wide with terror. When the vehicle came to a full stop, the back door opened, and out hopped a white lapiform, a demonette bearing the body and frame of a white rabbit. She waved at the driver, maintaining her unfading smile.

“Thanks for the lift!” said Sarin with a cheery tone. “I’ll keep my end of the deal and make sure he doesn’t kill you!”

Arackniss couldn’t even smile, shutting the back door. “You never saw me!” he yelled, before slamming his car in reverse and speeding away from the scene. Sarin watched the auto drive away, tilting her head, before affixing her eyes to the scene before her. Sheer, brilliant, unbelievable destruction. The road behind her was littered with cavernous holes and cracks, glass shattered and metal warped, the corpses of broken cars filling streets, Sarakk’s rampage all too apparent.

Heat overtook the surroundings, Sarin covering her eyes from wayward debris. Oh dear. She knew her Ak-Ak to have some rambunctious traits, but this? For her? She discovered this, because upon inquiring about her trapped situation, the brother – Arackniss – explained that mister thief needed to present the illusion of danger. In other words, he needed Sarakk to believe she was in genuine trouble, that asking for help wasn’t enough.

. . .and he wasn’t wrong. Akky was indifferent to everything around him. And Sarin? She wouldn’t even risk getting hurt attacking the studio, much less having her bugfriend hurt himself.

So now this.

Finding Sarakk proved simple, she only had to follow the devastation. Not some few blocks away, a thin finger of smoke curled into the air, from a fire. Said fire had consumed a downed helicopter, its occupants missing. Wait, no, not missing. Sarin wiggled her nose and hopped towards the ruinous scene.

There was her special guy. . . cloaked in entrails and blood and carnage. He was hurt, run through with dozens of wounds, and he was surrounded. Surrounded!?

She got closer. There, behind a line of what appeared to be masked soldiers, was a trio. More specifically, the Overlords: Vox, Velvet, and Valentino. As she neared, she could see Val was the picture of death. Sarakk must’ve gotten to him because he was missing a section of his side and there was colorful blood running down his slack jaw. Vox, the television-faced demon, was holding him around shoulder while Velvet looked the picture of terror.

“What are you waiting for!” she heard Vox call. “Fucking kill it!”

By it, they meant Sarakk. He towered over them, gazing at them, splinters of red electricity running off his body. His rage stung the air; even Sarin felt it.

As for the guards, they didn’t move. They appeared to be frozen in fear. Well, Sarin wasn’t about to see her boyfriend hurt anymore. She skipped closer, calling out to him.

“AKKY!” she hollered. Like a flicked switch, his head snapped to her, and his wide, scarlet eye affixed to her. He was stunned.

The guards were too, apparently, who glanced her way. Well, no time like the present to act: Sarin never went without her “necessities,” taking a yellow capsule and lobbing it towards the downed copter. When it hit the ground, an explosion of white, miasmatic fog consumed the area, glistening with poison stars. There were shrieks of alarm. Soldiers caught in the mist convulsed violent and melted inside their suits. The remaining security team grabbed the Overlords and yanked them to safety. Once distracted, Sarin made her way to the leviathan insectoid.

When she did, all the fury evaporated from the bug, who heaved with gasps and fell to his knees in total disbelief.

_“Sarin.”_

He said it in such a way that she might’ve been a phantom. When she was close enough, he reached out to touch her, and once confirming she was in fact _there,_ clasped his mammoth claws around her, bringing her close.

“ _You’re alive.”_

For the endless years Sarin had spent Down Here, Sarakk was the only thing she ever knew that could touch her. All others perished, even if she meant them no harm. Her penance was to spend her days as a deadly weapon, alienating everything and everyone around her, eternally alone without any sense of comfort or relief.

Except now. Bearing Nephilic strength, Sarakk’s regenerative body and intrinsic nature allowed him to near Sarin without danger to himself. Though he were a gruesome spectacle of death, he held her with such delicate gentleness.

Sarin felt the blood mat into her pale white fur. “And you’re very hurt.”

Indeed, Sarakk was beset with cavernous injuries and flecks of metal debris. The Exterminator material hindered his tissue regeneration, and pulling on such deep pools of hateful energy had drained even him.

“Were you hiding, pretty rabbit?” Sarakk said, holding her close, staring at the ground.

Sarin shook her head. “I was napping.”

“What?”

She looked up to him. “Oh, Ak-Ak. You’re not a clever one, are you?” Then she smiled.

“You’re safe?”

“I am.”

He gave a long sigh. “Good.”

Sarin wasn’t sure what to make of this. Dare she plot against the one who caused all this harm? Akky was quite hurt, and. . . well, after all this, where could they go? The Hotel? Oh, no, not anymore.

“Let’s go home,” Sarakk uttered, voice strained. Sarin rubbed his arm.

“We don’t have one anymore, silly.”

“Huh?”

She gestured behind her. “I don’t think miss Magne will like what you did there.”

He shrugged. “But she likes _us_.”

A laugh. “Not enough. I think. . . we should go, Akky.”

He seemed unconcerned, if only because he was with his bun. “Where?”

She frowned. “Somewhere I can fix you up.”

A nod. “Okay.”

With one smooth motion, he hoisted her up and carried her in his arms, walking away from the ruins. There were still remaining guards as the pair exited the death-mist, weapons trained on them, but Sarakk ignored them. No one dared to fire a shot as they left the scene of devastation, strangers returning to strange roads.

-*-

Munching popcorn. Bedazzled eyes. Bored Hellphone tapping. Concerned expressions.

Blitzo turned to his staff and cast them an overjoyed expression. “Wow, _wow._ Did you guys get goosebumps? _I got goosebumps._ Please tell me we’re on the same wavelength here?”

Blizto, head of IMP (Immediate Murder Professionals), gestured wide at everyone in the meeting room as a television flickered behind him, the screens depicting scenes of extreme violence, reported by 666 news. Val’s studio was aflame, while captured recordings showcased frozen images of a gigantic, insectoid monstrosity running havoc throughout the building. Given that one of Pentagram City’s most influential Overlord’s had his primary studio turned upside down, it was all over the news.

His crew: one Moxxie, one Millie, and one Loona, looked on with vague concern. Or rather, Loona – the Hellhound – thumbed into her Hellphone, ignoring her boss, while Moxxie maintained a concerned expression with Millie holding up her chin with hands.

“Uh, sir. . .” started Mox.

“No need to agree, Moxxie, I can _feel it._ I’m glad we’re thinking the same thing.”

Mox glanced around. “No, we aren’t.”

Blitzo snorted. “Okay, well of course _you’re_ the wet blanket here, Mox, you’re always the first to question my brilliant plans. But _Millie_ here, she sees it, don’tcha Mils?”

The other imp, a shortstack girl in black overalls smiled. “Yeah! Oh, wait!. Nope!”

Blitzo clicked his tongue. “And I thought we were a team. Oh well, _Loona_. . .”

“Nope,” said the grumpy Hellhound from the corner of her muzzle.

Moxxie sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sir, _please._ None of us have any idea what you’re talking about. You were just eating popcorn for _fifteen minutes_ and are asking us to. . . I don’t even know what!”

Blitzo frowned. “You know, this is exactly why business is so slow. _Unsupportive team members._ It’s a Christmas fucking miracle I decided to start my employee outreach program, today, as of right now.”

“What?”

“See? No teamwork.”

Blitzo paused the screen and pointed at it. “Look. _There._ Right _there!”_

No response.

“Are you guys _kidding me?_ You don’t see?”

Millie rubbed her chin. “Hmm. It’s got pretty colors?”

“Yes! But no,” continued Blitzo, “I’m talking about the _newest_ member of IMP! Staring us right in the televised face!”

There was a pause. Even Loona looked up from her phone, aptly aware that the thing on screen was a storm of destruction. “Cool. We’re all gonna’ fucking die. Thanks.”

Mox gawked so hard his eyes threatened to fall out of his skull.

“Sir. . . you can’t be serious!”

Blitzo put his fists to his side. “When have I never not been serious? Look at this guy! He’s great! That’s the kind of young blood we need at IMP to put us on the fast track to Hell’s biggest assassination business!”

He tapped his fingers. “Granted, he’s a little messy, but nothing like good ol’ Blitzo magic to turn him into a beautiful butterfly of death! Just need to take him under my wing, is all.”

Mox raised his hands. “Okay, _I’m sorry,_ but can we _not_ indulge in another one of your insane schemes!? Were you _watching_ the news?”

“Yeah, uh, Moxxie, it’s why I got the popcorn, asshole.”

“That thing is a monster! It’s a mindless, horrible, er, death, eat. . . beast! You’re insane! You’ll get killed! More importantly, you’ll get us killed!”

Loona smirked. “I’m interested now.”

Millie nudged her husband. “Aw, c’mon honey, he looks fun.”

Blitzo sighed, slowly shaking his head. “Mox, Mox. You know, I never took you for the judgmental type. Right now there’s some young buck with raw, untapped talent and you just want to crush his dreams! Crush _my_ dreams! You’re a gross, disgusting dream crusher, Moxxie.”

Mox frowned. “You’re crazy!”

“I’m _ambitious,_ Mox. Now, all in favor of hiring this big bonebreaker bug a job at IMP, raise your hand!”

Blitzo and Millie raised their arms. Blitzo laughed. “Haha, just kidding. I’m the boss and only my vote matters, so it’s settled!”

He smiled at Loona. “Loonie, be a dear and draft up some employment papers for our newest junior intern.”

“Eat a dick.”

“That’s my girl!”

He looked to Mox and Mil. “You two are in charge of finding mister fuck-fist and giving him the good news!”

“WHAT!?” shrieked Moxxie. “Why us!? This is _your_ insane idea!”

Blitzo snorted. “Because I’ll be working on the new commercial, duh. Got it? Okaygreathankyoueveryonedotheirjobs!”

Millie simpered and nudged Mox's side. “C’mon, honey, I’ll get the suits.”

-*-

The Hotel was in shambles.

The entirety of its front had fallen open while bricks and debris cluttered its entrance. The road leading to it was a mess with devastation, all bearing the destruction of Sarakk. Well. Shit.

Unceremoniously dropped by Sir Pentious, you and Angel were back at the Hotel. He was at your side, his very proximity filling you with strength, but, when you returned to the building, it didn’t feel the same. It wasn’t really home anymore. How could it be? After all this, after all the chaos you’d brought to it? It wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be _fair._

At your return, there was a mixed reaction. Jubilation, of course. Charlie and co rushed to meet you both and quickly embraced the spider. Charlie, in tears, apologized to him, and he hugged her back. Vaggie did too, genuinely relieved to see that he was okay. . . mostly. Husk didn’t frown, he only wore a face of “thank god,” coming to you and putting a paw on your shoulder.

“Stop doin’ that to us, kid,” he said, bearing a sad smile.

Baxter made an appearance, as distant as ever. Seriously, did he just spend all his days in the laboratory? Crymini came out too, weeping, hugging you and Angel.

“You ruined my research,” Baxter chided.

“You guys suck,” Crymini wailed. “Stop making us worry!”

Alastor, well, he did his Alastor thing. He came to you, sneering, tapping your prosthetic with his mic-staff. “Came in handy, didn’t it?”

“Are you actually making a pun?” you say.

“It’s the least I can do for giving my rambunctious rival the ol’ one-two. Ohohoho, I wish I could’ve seen Vox’s petrified face!”

Once again, Alastor found a way to make it work out in his favor, at least to some degree.

And then Hox. . . smacked you across the face. Then hugged.

“You dumb fucking asshole!” he said, voice breaking, actual tears running down his cheeks. “You piece of unbelievable shit! Fuck you!”

You rubbed your face. “I missed you too buddy. I owe you everything.”

He hugged you so hard your back hurt. “Never do that to me again,” he muttered.

The sentiment was the same: a sad, angry relief. Of course the princess was elated to see you both safe and returned. But at the same time, look at what it cost! Look at the damage, and the ensuing chaos! The third time you’d managed to get yourself in trouble. No, more than that! You were hurting them, even if you didn’t want to.

It was time to come to a hard decision.

You took Angel aside, and gestured to the small crowd. Charlie was wiping her eyes, Vaggie consoling her, the pair gesturing between you and the Hotel.

“Angel. . .” you say to him.

He turns and gives a soft smile, but there’s sadness to it. He understands to, you think.

“Damn, Anon,” he says. “What’cha do this time?”

“The bug.”

He boggles. “Oh. Shit.”

You sigh, holding his hand. “It’s been a long one, huh?”

The night hangs over you both, the horizon of Pentagram City in the distance.

“Fuckin’ tell me about it.”

You give a hard chuckle. “You feel it too?”

Angel Dust pauses, glancing at the Happy Hotel, looking it over. “Well. . . guess we gonna have to pay fer all that.”

He rubs his head. “And. . . yeah. Dis’ ain’t like the other times.”

Part of changing is accepting the repercussions for your actions. Part of becoming better (or worse) is changing. Maintaining responsibility. For the longest time, for a year, you and Angel used the Hotel like a safehouse, a playground. Mostly you. By doing so, you indirectly put everyone in harm’s way. Hell aside, ignoring Angel’s reputation, even, to inflict this over and over on them, on Charlie, the people who cared about you? It was downright abusive.

“I love you more than anything, Anthony,” you say to your husband, “but I can’t keep doing this to them.”

And by that, you mean, you can’t keep letting your emotions hurt other people.

“I want a life with you,” you continue, gazing at the place you once considered a home, “but. . . I can’t do it here.”

You realize you’re saying _a lot,_ given the events that just occurred _._ “Maybe not the best time for it.”

Angel shook his head “No, no, I uh, I understand. I don’t _wanna_ understand. I wanna’ go home. But ya’ ain’t wrong, Anon. Dis’ place keeps gettin’ fucked up.”

He gives a weak laugh. “It is a hotel, h-heh. Ain’t s’posed to stay forever.”

You nod. “I want us to have something we can call ours.”

You glance at the city. “Something we make together. Something that I don’t have to _steal_.”

Angel didn’t respond at once. He came to your side, wrapping an arm around yours, staring wistfully at the torn Hotel.

“M’really gonna’ miss this shitshack,” he said, gesturing at the others. “And these fuckin’ losers too.”

You looked too. Looked one more time at a place you’d lived in, fought for, saved, put in danger, and found love in. Looked at people you thought once as enemies, then friends, now family. Looked at the place containing memories, reflecting on the long, exhausting journey it took to get here. To get _here,_ to _this_ moment, to have Angel Dust – Anthony – at your side, to call you his, to _be_ his, to be someone other than a shadow, to be someone other than a thief.

There’s a knowing between you and Angel, about what you have to say to Charlie and the rest. “When?” you ask.

Angel dust sighs a moment. Then chuckles. “Heh. Save it fer the cleanin’ bill,” he says, one of the first things you heard before stepping foot into the Hotel.

-*-

There was never going to be an easy way to put it. Never an easy way to end one journey so you could begin another. Never an easy way to apologize _and_ be grateful. But it had to be done.

You and Angel, some days after Hotel repairs were (mostly) done, stepped into Charlie’s office to make your announcement.

You were both leaving the Hotel.

At first, it was your idea, on premise alone of bringing so much danger to the Hotel. But as you and Angel continued to talk, you realized you wanted a life for yourselves. There were still so many things to unravel. There was still the pain of losing Junior. The events and things that happened to Angel _in_ the studio. Your regression. Your year of trauma. The list went on. But despite it all, you and Angel were there for the other, making each other stronger and better. Your souls – bound forever – fed into a loop, granting strength, support, and the foundation to build something. The Hotel was for people were lost and needed help, but, you and Angel had help. The Hotel brought you together. Now it was time to depart and give chance to new arrivals.

Charlie took it as well as one might expect: see, bursting into tears and hugging you both.

“I’msosorry!” she exclaimed, her rose cheeks flooded with tears. “I’m happy for you both, but angry. . . and sad, h-haha!”

Angel hugged her back, tight. “S’okay, Chuck. We love ya’ so much.”

You returned it. “We do.”

She wiped her face, looking between the two of you. “I knew this was gonna’ happen one day, hah. I j-just, never wanted it to happen!”

She frowned. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

Angel rushed to her. “No, no! Aww, Chuck, it ain’t like that! We ain’t gonna vamoose like a couple of spooks. It’s just, hey, we’ze tryin’ to land a little nest of our own, yeah? You can bug us whenever ya’ want!”

She blinked, looking at him. “R-r-really?”

He nodded. “Really! Right Anon?”

You smiled. “You pester us whenever you want, miss Magne.”

She sniffed, wiping her face, blowing her nose. “Still. . . I wish you’d stay.”

Even after all this, she’d still have you both? She was precious, and Hell didn’t deserve her.

“But you’re right, you two are better, and you need your own life, even if redemption didn’t exactly work out, h-hah.”

“Dunno’ bout that,” you offer. “I’ve got an angel looking out for me.”

Angel snickered, rolling his mismatched eyes. “Yeh, very clever, Anon.”

The spider went to her, took out a cloth, and wiped her face. “Ya’ know, Chuck, ain’t my business to tell ya’ how to run dis place but, I feel pretty redeemed. And maybe. . . and maybe the big top ain’t heaven. Maybe heaven’s down here, if we’ze all acted a lot less shitty.”

He gave her a warm, loving smile. “’Sides, all th’fun people are in Hell.”

She gave a sad chuckle and stepped back, studying you both. “Look at you two idiots, you’ve grown. You’ve grown so much. I’ve never been so disappointed and proud. You’re both trouble, but you’re good people, or. . . trying to be. Even if you aren’t far, I will miss you so, so much. _We_ will miss you.”

The Princess of Hell briefly turned around, pulling a sliver of paper from her desk. “Anon, Angel, there’s a little place I can recommend to you. It’s downtown, it’s a single home, it’s in complete disrepair, and it would take a lot of money and time to fix it but, it’s also my authority to give to you. If you two rebuild it, and make it your home, then I believe in what you’re doing.”

She handed the paper to Angel. “Or maybe I’m just trying to keep you both here, haha.”

Angel looked the paper over, showing a picture of a two-story brick home that had similar aesthetic to the Hotel, just worn down like it’d survive a war or two. But by the standards of Hell? Luxury.

“Awh, Chuck!” exclaimed the spider. “Ya’ don’t have to do this!”

“Yeah!” you reinforced. “We owe you, if anything.”

She raised a hand. “Please. It’s okay.”

You smiled. “You’re the first at the housewarming party.”

She nodded. “Say goodbye to the others before you leave. They may not show it, but you mean a lot to them.”

A sad realization washed over you and Angel, but a happy one too. This was it, huh?

[Downstairs, the others were waiting.](https://youtu.be/O6MjX1Am188)

Vaggie bawled. “You two fucking dolts stay out of trouble, okay!? You too Angel! And if something happens, CALL ME!”

Husk took off his hat. “Take good care of him, Anon. For both of us, all right? And hey, don’t be a stranger, I need a good poker buddy.”

The Bois cry-bleated. “BAAAAAAAH!” bawled Razzle.

“BAAAAAAAAAAA!” wailed Dazzle.

Niffty, for once, was calm. She handed you a big needle. “Here! Take ol Stabby! If ya’ see any bugs, kill em’ for me, okay!?”

Hox put a hand on your shoulder. “Stay alive, okay buddy? And thanks. For being a pal.”

Crymini gave a sad smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t know him better. I’m sorry it happened. I’ll miss you both.”

Baxter, for once, wasn’t as neurotic. “. . .I hardly knew you, but. . . I still don’t want you to leave.”

And Alastor smiled. Not grinned, smiled. He shook your hand. “You’ve finally got those antlers, dear boy. Good luck out there.”

Hah, that’s funny. You didn’t want to move, but you did. You didn’t want this moment to end, but it had to.

Moments are kinda’ like that, they keep happening and they keep going. There’s no end, really, there’s just what comes next. There’s no happily-ever-after, there’s just another day, and for the longest time, those days were filled with these people, these friends. Maybe they were demons, maybe they _were_ sinners, the worst of the worst. But they were still your friends, they were still your family.

It was so strange. You weren’t leaving them behind forever. It wasn’t like they were in another time and world. It wasn’t like they couldn’t visit, or vice versa. But maybe it was the finality of all of it, that this particular chapter, this sequence of events, this time you spent at the Hotel with Angel, was at its conclusion. Now you and Anthony had a new path to chart, and while you’d always have these friends, they weren’t coming along, exactly.

They guided you to this crossroads. Now you and Angel were going your own way.

“Ya’ guys fuckin’ suck,” said Angel, tearing up, his mascara running, Fat Nuggets in his arms. “Ya’ fucks. H-hah. You’ze guys is the best friends I’ve ever had.”

You laugh too. Your throat hurts, and you wipe your eye.

You wouldn’t say goodbye, because that was an end. Instead: “See you ‘round, okay?”

-*-

You, Angel, and Nuggets fit yourselves into the spacious back of the black cab. The doors closed and, through the glass, you glanced one last time at the building that was your home for a long time. So did Angel. In front, the Hotel denizens stood in a crowd, offering one final wave before the car sped off, into the sunset horizon of Pentagram City.

Slowly, the building faded like a shadow, a silhouette. The waving shapes grew smaller and smaller in hindsight, until, eventually, they weren’t there anymore, like ghosts.

The weight crashed down on you. So, that was it.

You looked to your side to see Angel, his beautiful, captivating features putting you at ease. It was time to start your life with him.

“Heh, ya’ know what I just realized?” he said as Specks, the eye, made a right turn.

“What’s that, hon?”

“Anon. Anthony.”

You tilt your head while Nuggets wiggles in Angel’s lap.

“. . .yeah?”

He smirks, looking at you. “What, ya’ don’t see it?”

“Uh.”

“C’mon smart guy! **Anon. An** th **on** y.”

 _Oh_. The names. “Oh.”

“Hahah, you’ze was inside of me before we even met!”

You chuckle. “How romantic.”

He smiles, leans forward, and kisses you. “It sure is, babe.”

He leans back in his seat. “It sure is.”

The dreary, lazy hues of Pentagram City’s twilight washes over the sleek exterior of the cab as it speeds toward your home. It’s a chaotic place, a hellish place, full of misery and pain. Not much happiness to be found out here. . . unless you look in the right places. There’s a little something in the midst of it all, promising redemption to sinners, the Happy Hotel. There, you found your Angel. There, you became a better person.

As you and the spider begin a new phase of your life, one closes. You think to yourself, in all that’s happened, from where you’ve been the last year. . .

Yeah.

[You’re pretty happy.](https://youtu.be/JapIRKd9kgA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, this is it.


	15. Bookmark

**Bookmark**

“Holy shit, what a dump!”

You and Angel stepped out of the cab. Before you, on its own block, was Charlie’s gifted home. . . which was in near disrepair. It was standing there, but the lawn was overgrown with grey weeds, several of its exterior windows boarded up, the gate dangling haplessly to the side, a lamppost missing, and numerous other problems. For you and Angel, this was your new home.

Angel smiled. “I love it.”

You nodded. “. . .me too.”

As the cab door closed, you waved to Specks, the strange taxi driver who always managed to be your driver from day one. “Thanks, specks,” you say.

The eye tipped its hat. _“You’re welcome_!” it said before speeding away. Wait, what?

Angel, with Fat Nuggets in his arm, nudged your side. “C’mon,” he says, voice full of warmth. For now, you and he have some temporary things with you before you get the rest of your belongings here – and that means, more or less, Angel is having his dresses, perfumes, soaps, and literal gun store of supplies shipped here. For you? Well, nothing wrong with a fresh start.

You both march through the lawn, shove the door open with Charlie’s bequeathed black key. The door resists, wheezes, then buckles open, dust and debris forming clouds as you enter. It’s near pitch black and the shadows are alive as you struggle to hit a switch on the wall. When you manage to find one, a single dull light flickers to life, showering the interior with dull yellow light.

Well. . . it’s a disaster.

You cough, waving away dusty fog. “Agh, fuck, look a this. . .”

From torn wallpaper to stained carpets to dusty furniture, this place hasn’t been inhabited for devil knew how long. There’s a strange air of familiarity to it though, because it’s “style,” – if you could call this style – bore similarities to the Hotel. There was even a portrait of unfamiliar on a wall, tilted to the side, depicting affluent demons, perhaps Overlords.

“It’s like a crack den in here,” you comment, setting aside your belongings.

Angel gazed around, in wanderlust. “It’s fuckin’ beautiful!”

You concede with a nod. “Yes. Yes it is.”

It needs work. _A lot_ of work. And time. And money, oh god so much money. Given that you and Angel had to drain your pockets to help Charlie with the Hotel repairs, easier said than done. But it’s your nest, your new home, and in a way, quite literally a place to build a life with your spider.

And, in dramatic fashion, as Angel enters, you slide the door closed, shutting the outside world to begin this new li-

There’s a knock. As in, like, immediately. As in someone would have to have been hiding around the corner of the home to have done this so quickly.

Uh, what?

“The fuck?”

You and Angel exchange looks. Cautiously, you slide into the door and – taking advantage of the powers granted by your husband – summon a weapon. Trouble already, eh?

You pull the door open and. . .

She stares at you. Blinks. Then grins.

She wears a row of golden fangs, her eyes are pitch black seated with white pupils, and her coat of fur is as pale as snow. Long hair flows down her back while the rest of her caniform frame wears a suit that looks. . . well, patched together.

It’s a Hellhound?

“What-“

She beams. _“Welcome to the neighborhood, stranger!”_

“You-”

She brushes past you, standing a head taller than you and Angel, pushing into the house with uncanny but dangerous grace.

“Greetings, hi, hello, salutations! I’m Mynerva! Mynevera with a y, thank you, and my eyes didn’t deceive me when I saw Hell’s biggest power couple gracing this dinky doorstep with their presence!”

You sensed trouble. Angel watched, oddly fascinated, while Fat Nuggets oinked and hid.

Mynerva gestured around her. “Oh I love what you’re doing here! Going for the ironic look or _we-don’t-have-any-money,_ look?”

“Hang on!” you interject.

She waved her hand. “No judgment here, it’s a _very_ popular look around these parts, _hah!”_

You grunted. You weren’t playing games, all things considered. “Okay, who _the fuck_ are you and what the hell do you want?”

Mynerva glanced at you, tilting her head. “Uh, hello? Mynerva with a y? We just talked about this!”

She shuffled with her suit. “Cigar?”

You’re dumbfounded. “What? No. . . I. . .”

“Well, good, I don’t have one.”

Angel snickered. “Hah, you’ze a riot, toots. But uh, seriously, make with the quick talks or we’ll fuckin’ run a canoe through ya’ head.”

Mynerva showed no sign of concern, instead, pulled out a card, expertly placing it in your hand. On it was a logo and a word in call caps:

**H O W L**

“Miss Mynerva, CEO, CFO, and Executive Decision-Maker of HOWL!”

What the fuck? It read: _Hellhound Organization of Weaponized Lackies_

“I couldn’t help but stal- er uh, observe, the notorious duo turning this place into their latest love nest and thought I’d make introductions!”

For a moment, you wondered how she knew who you and Angel were, but given recent events and Angel being, well, _Angel,_ it wasn’t surprising.

All the same, you wanted time with your spider. “Great. Now go.”

“Atututut, hang on there, sparky, I’m more than just a pretty face,” she continued, throwing arms behind her back.

“You’re both in luck! This place is just what I need to rebuild my shattered practice!”

_“What?”_

Mynerva strolled around the foyer, giving the interior a long once over. “Look, you two, I’ll cut to the chase. A pair of big-shots like you have a loooong list of enemies! It doesn’t take brain science to see that. So, what do ya’ do when you need security? Simple, you _get_ security!”

She returned her gaze to you and Angel. “Did you guys change the locks? I thought not. The previous tenants of this place could all still be in here. Right in those _walls.”_

Angel squinted his eyes before giving a concerned glance to said walls. “. . .are ya’ serious?”

“Mister Dust, I’d _never_ lie to you.”

You were starting to get the picture. A huckster shilling her services, it seemed.

“Basic math says that me being here and _you_ being here equals HOWL! Round the clock protection with a brand-new system installed in your run-down crack ho- I mean, uh, lovely home!”

You grumble. “You can’t be serious.”

Mynerva chuckled. “Lookie here, math was my minor! And as my minor math tells me it’s only a matter of time before you get unwarranted visits. Everyone saw the news, you know! Especially me! And once you make a foe out of an Overlord. . .”

Alright, she’s overstayed her welcome. “Look, thanks for your. . . concern? But, Mynerva, was it? Scram. We just got here, and. . .”

Angel tugs at your arm. “Baby.”

The spider gives her a smile before pulling you aside. “Just give us a sec’.”

He pulls you aside to another room, the decrepit state of a dining room, and holds your hand.

“Anon. . .”

You note the change of his tone. “Angel? What’s wrong? Can you believe this lady?”

He sighs, chuckling. “I sure can. But she’s makin’ a good point.”

“Are you serious?”

“Anon, c’mon. Baby. Are we serious about all dis? Are we really tryin’ to make it work?”

You blink “Huh? Of course we are!”

“Well. . . she ain’t wrong, ya’ know. We’ze kinda’ on a shitlist now. We need all the help we can get. I wanna’ do this with ya’, Anon, I really do. But if we don’t start thinkin’ about protectin’ ourselves, we ain’t gonna last long.”

Shit.

He’s right.

“How can we even trust her?”

Angel shrugs. “Hah, well, we can’t but ya’ know. If she tries somethin’, we’ll fuckin’ give er’ the ol one-two fuck you, eh?”

You nod. “Well. Alright. I’ll hold you to that.”

It still doesn’t sit easy with you. You’ve only _just_ met this strange new person, and a Hellhound, no less. Everything from her sleep-deprived eyes to her gold teeth strikes you as an imposter. But, maybe she’s the best shot you have right now at keeping you and Angel from dying in your sleep. So, you return to her in the living room, where Mynerva is stowing away rusty forks in her inner pockets.

“Ey, pooch,” calls Angel. “I think we’ll take ya’ up on yer offer.”

She straightened, boggling. “What? REALLY!? Oheruhem, yes, great! Of course! You’ve made one of the best decisions of your young lives!”

She pulled a bottle from her pockets. “Care to join me for a thumb of scotch?”

“It’s _noon.”_

“Oh, but I haven’t slept in days.”

-*-

It’s quiet tonight, even though it’s hell.

There’s not much light. You and Angel only have rucksacks for your beds. It’s not luxurious, nothing like the Hotel, but it's yours, and it’s home. And like home, you need your spider, and he needs you. Your forms are together, embraced. Soft warm fluff touches your flesh. His lips press against yours. Fingers stroll and caress and squeeze all the rhythms and dives of his frame.

You missed him. God you missed him so bad. He did you, too, and you can feel it. The feedback loop of two partners lost in each other after so long, after so much pain. It’s not fast or rough, it’s slow. Steady. Healing. Loving. The dull light of an improvised lamp washes over you both. You don’t really need words, not right now. The silence is enough. There’s enough chaotic noise in Pentagram City to last an eternity, and you understand each other anyway, the language of your relationship.

You’re together again, and that’s all that matters.

What tomorrow brings, what the week brings. . . what any of it brings, neither of you are sure. It never quite ends, because there’s always tomorrow. But you do know, at least, Angel is always with you. A thief and a spider, out on their own, and if there’s one thing that _won’t_ change, it’s that. You’ll always have each other.

There are still things to work on. There’s still trauma to work through. You and Angel have a forest of problems you must conquer, coping with the loss of your son in a healthy way, being better partners, preventing another regression, dealing with Angel’s time at the studio, all of it. This chapter closes, but more always open. No story ends, really, they just find a bookmark.

Downstairs, Mynerva makes her preparations, whatever those are. Out in the vast heart of the city, two uncertain imps approach a massive insectoid and a small rabbit. At the Happy Hotel, repairs are done, and Charlie Magne continues her mission to help redeem lost, wayward souls.

You’re Anon.

[You’ve got no more plans for this city.](https://youtu.be/0MoGmXVBp4g)


	16. Final Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends and readers, we're really here. We're at the actual end of the Thief-Spider trilogy.
> 
> It's hard to properly thank the hundreds - maybe thousands of you - that have come this far, read this long, and stuck with this one-off idea transformed into a series of short books. I'm proud, I'm happy, and yeah, I'm sad, in a joyful sort of way. This concept has lived with me for a literal year, and has taken up such mental and emotional space it's kind of amazing. It's been a journey, one that's taught me a lot about writing, myself, and enabled me to make many friends along the way. All because we share the same love for a silly spider.
> 
> Thank you again from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> Is the journey really over? Yes, but no. I can't see myself continuing another longform story like TSH, aka a novel-sized piece with Thief and Angel. HOWEVER. I'm now at the point I've always wanted to be: to write fun, slice of life antics with the pair, as short or as long as desired. The thing is, you gotta' earn that. You gotta make sure the audience believes it and wants it with you. And now we're here.
> 
> Did it mean this novel had to be shorter? Yeah. I think this particular story has reached its conclusion. I'm ready to close this chapter, if you'll forgive the expression. But my only consolation is, yes, there are still stories to tell. Just not in the form of short books!
> 
> Thanks again, reader. It's been a long year. I'm glad you were with me for all of it.

**Epilogue**

It didn’t take long before Charlie’s first visit.

This time, though, you and Angel had the pride of opening _your_ doors to her. Though the interior of the place was still in desperate need of other repairs, it was suitable enough for company. You got the lights in the living room working, after all! And hey, you and Angel could serve food that was edible! And even though Charlie, Vaggie, and the rest of the Hotel were only lit by the dim glow of a few lamps, it was good to see them all again, even if they were just visiting.

. . .and it helped Raz and Daz were quick to make a few emergency repairs of their own.

It felt good. It felt like home. Angel was overjoyed to gossip with the others. Laughter was abundant. Wouldn’t you know it, even Alastor put on a little show and got some impromptu karaoke going?

Mynerva made her rounds too, gold-fanged grin and all, shoving her business card hither-and-dither, proudly going on about the various security systems she was installing – such as the kick-boot on the top floor window and the shattered glass on the balcony (alright that wasn’t hers but it was the thought that counted).

A good time. While the house-warming party continued, you excused yourself briefly, to the main room, and looked in a mirror.

And. . .

-*-

Uh. Hey.

This is a strange one, isn’t it? But here it goes. I’m talking to myself, I think. Literally and not. You and me.

Okay, hmm. Start over. I know you, somehow, but I don’t. You’re you, I’m me, we’re the same, but we’re not, get it? No? Yeah, neither do I. I don’t know what I’m doing, exactly. Am I addressing you? _You,_ you. Not me.

You.

Alright, sorry, let’s try one more time. You’ve been with me this whole time, whoever you are. With me, but not. Every step and breath I took, you were there. You’ve been part of it. I feel like I know you but I _don’t._ I think the only time I sensed “you” was back at the tower, when the Half was threatening us all. Can you remember? Can you remember the moment you pulled me up? You might think _I_ did that, but it was you. Or me? Both of us. All of us?

Funny, I don’t actually know your name. I’ve just been calling you, well, “You.” But you’re part of me, somehow.

Hah, I must be sounding crazy, right? Still confused? Me too. But I think I get it now. There’s something out there I don’t quite understand, some presence, maybe. And that presence is you. You and me, together, all of us. We’ve been partners for so long, yet we’re ghosts of each other. But we got here because we love Angel, yeah? Yeah.

Let me put it this way. . .

I’m. . . Anon. Thief works too. Nice to meet you, You.

You were me, I was you, for the longest time. And then, somewhere, the line started to split, and I, uh, “became.” But I’m strange, because I live and breathe and exist because of you. Haha, I _am_ insane, telling this to my reflection. Is this even making sense? Am I talking to anyone but me? Maybe. I hope so.

Ah, sorry, I guess I mention it because. . . thank you. Honestly. You and me, partners in crime, eh? We got away with the big one: Angel. Not a bad score, right? Couldn’t have done it without you.

But also I’ve got this odd sensation that our paths are splitting, now. You got me here, so stay as long as you want. But once I go back downstairs, I think you’re my guest from then on. Does that make sense? Look, you can be my guest for as long as you want. I got this weird feeling my life with Angel is just another beginning. There’s a lot of shit out there unaccounted for.

But I can’t drag you down with me, whoever you are. Or whatever you are? All of you. One of you?

I think that time has come to a close, right? You, I think, have got a life to live. You helped me get my Angel. Go get yours. Or, shit, hunt that big score. Make those mistakes.

Hah. I damn wish I could return the favor, I really do. I wish I could be there, to pull you up, to carry you on, or help you when you need it. Be the partner you were for me. I wish I could be your shadow. But something tells me that it ain’t how this works, whatever “this” is. I wish I could do more, but sometimes that's how the cards fall.

. . .hmm, hey I tell you what. When your living Hell is too much, just stop in for a visit, any time. I’m sure me and Angel have lots of stories to tell.

Hah. I don’t even know who you are, exactly, but, I’m gonna’ miss you.

Take care of yourself.

-*-

He blinked.

Thief tilted his head and gazed at his reflection. Wholly his, and nothing else. He wasn’t sure what happened. Something was there, and then it wasn’t. Strange. Sad, too. Like a memory he couldn’t recall, yet was so permanent and crucial to his identity and journey. What would he call this whole ordeal, anyway?

“Huh,” he muttered, “better write that down before I forget.”

He quickly scribbled down three words: thief, spider, hotel.

Sounds of the housewarming party pulled at his attention. He went to the door, and for some reason, felt compelled to turn and look back at the dark.

“See you ‘round,” he said, uncertain to who.

[You watch him close the door, one last time.](https://youtu.be/yUqARwLG-Zw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then watch as I proceed to write another book


	17. Author's Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final notes on the Thief-Spider trilogy.

**Author’s Notes**

Well, hey there reader.

It looks like your long journey reached its end. There’s a sad joy to all of it – finishing such an enormous chunk of fiction that’s been part of my life for over a year (as of writing this). Some of you have been here at the start. Some of you might be joining things at a different point in time, but if you’re reading these words, it means you read through the Thief-Spider trilogy. A wild ride, huh?

This is the part where I indulge myself a bit and ramble to you on paper, if you’ll hear me out. Given what you’ve just read through, it would be a bit of an anticlimax just to head on out, eh? So hey, stay a while and listen.

So, there _might_ be one lingering question on your mind, if I could venture out and be a little vein.

**Will there be more of Thief Anon and Angel?**

Oh sure. While my time writing longform content for Hazbin, at least in regards to this series, is definitely at its end point, I’m at a place I’ve always wanted to be: writing slice of life with shadow man and spider. There a lot of intricacies to explore in their relationship, lots of highs and lows, lots of things to process. It’s just, you can’t exactly rush into that without “earning it.” The reader has to want it as much as the author, and I believe – if you’ve come this far – you’d like to see more. So would I. With their relationship so well established, I can kinda’ do what I want, and it’s such a liberating feeling. I can explore their dynamics without worrying about writing a novel behind it (not to say I didn’t enjoy it).

**The ending left so many things open!**

This is me more addressing the angle of how I ended TSH. That is to say, while Thief and Angel began a new life, it didn’t feel “final,” exactly. Left to how the wind blows, and that’s on purpose. What nonsense will SarSar get into with IMP? What’s up with Mynerva? How will they process the loss of Junior? Etc.

**Why was this one shorter?**

You’ll notice book three was substantially shorter than the previous entries, or at least by 20k words or so. And that’s okay, I think a short book was enough and hit all the points I wanted to. And, as of writing this, I was easily suffering from burnout. Between this, commissions, and professional work, I had to see the end of the story, but if I waited too long, I feared momentum loss. Besides, there’s no real need to ramble. Keep the story where it’s interesting, you know?

**Why did Thief become his own character?**

I think that one is fairly obvious. Maintaining a surrogate requires a level of anonymity of which Thief was losing pretty quickly around the first book. And while you and me and everyone were “part” of him, our spooky protagonist was becoming his own thing. Thief evolving into a character at the end of the series really feels like it seals that “era” of storytelling. You and he have been through a lot, but like us, he’s got his own life to live, even if it’s in a fan made fictional series.

Well, I think that wraps things up, for now.

Friends it’s been such a strange and amazing process. I’ve learned a lot about myself as a writer. I wrote three books, I fell for a fun spider, and wrote stuff that people enjoyed. No, it doesn’t cater to general shipping, and it’s one of the hardest things to have people “accept” your ideas that’s outside of canon, but somehow it all worked out.

When the wind blows again I’ll return to one of my favorite couples, with fresh energy and a new mind. If you’re reading this now, it could be a while. If you’re reading this in the future, new material might already be out there.

They’ll be short stories or quick diddies, but the real joy is they can be _anything._ And when the day comes, I’ll be happy to see you all again.

-Laz Briar

Art Credits

[ **Arizona** ](https://twitter.com/FDOPoffical)

_A skilled and talented artist that's been with me the whole way._

Special Thanks

WriteAnon

_Dearly beloved friend, thank you for your kinship, advice, and encouragement._

Musical Credits

_In order of appearance_

  1. Lorn - Ghosst(s)
  2. [Eddie Murphy - Party All the Time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YA5QJ8wsDp0)
  3. [Trevor Something - The Ghost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JmooQqb-K80)
  4. [Chromatics - Tick of the Clock](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWD7k6TrJ-g)
  5. [Slutty Spider Polka Pop (Angel Dust's Theme)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OY9OYaMxog)
  6. [Neil Cicierega - Rollercoaster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZT05Md0Fxg)
  7. [PDBY - Tears or Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEhrfBjb82g)
  8. [Boy Harsher - Keep Driving](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keV4A19P7Z4)
  9. [Lorn - Weigh Me Down](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXbmgEJuJpA)
  10. [Trevor Something - Into Your Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80214E8FuBo&feature=youtu.be)
  11. [Somebody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN8TtaYMeDk&feature=youtu.be)
  12. [The Protomen - In the Air Tonight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7agiqfuQmQ&feature=youtu.be)
  13. [Suicide Silence - Superbeast](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-V7fe9JCJpA&feature=youtu.be)
  14. [James Henry Jr. - Take Me Down Easy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6MjX1Am188&feature=youtu.be)
  15. [Traxx - In the End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JapIRKd9kgA&feature=youtu.be)
  16. [Radiohunter - Cobra Jupiter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MoGmXVBp4g&feature=youtu.be)
  17. [Lorn - I Better](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUqARwLG-Zw&feature=youtu.be)




End file.
